Hindsight Being What it is
by dgschneider
Summary: Keeping a secret can be hard, especially when you have a pesky FBI psychologist determined to weasel his way into every aspect of your life. This story begins at the end of The Hole in the Heart as B&B struggle to keep their relationship a secret and not get caught
1. Prologue

A/N: If you like this story you have Jenny1701 to thank. She gave me the idea when she pointed out that there isn't much about how the FBI and Sweets found out about the new Booth and Brennan relationship or how they reacted. If they're out there - I have to say I haven't seen them either - if you know of any drop me a line and let me know about them. In the meantime, this is my take on the whole rigamarole. Jenny1701 this one's for you! Thank you for the idea!

Set at the end of season 6 starting with The Hole in the Heart

ooooo0ooooo

~ Prologue ~

He closed blinds, checked locks, even tried to get her to sleep in his room, which was far better protected than the living room. More than once, he stopped and looked at her, silent. The entirety of him ached to fix something for her, anything. She was strong, brave, logical, and resistant. There was nothing to be fixed or maybe it was the stark reality that nothing about this situation was fixable. They could only move forward. She insisted on taking the couch. He needed his sleep, he had to kill Brodsky.

All day long, he'd wanted to pull her into his arms. On the forensics platform as they watched the life slip from Vincent Nigel-Murray. In her office as they gave statements, rehearsing over and over the sequence of events. At the FBI, where her carefully constructed walls of science and fact were obvious to everyone but her. Call it a guy hug, call it partnership, friendship, hell, today, tonight, he'd call it love. He knew her, knew she was hiding the pain. He tugged lightly on the pillow she was slipping into a pillowcase, an attempt to pull her in. She resisted. She could handle it herself. More than one message sent, more than one received. She would come to him if and when she was ready, not before. So, he gave her everything he could, then said goodnight and closed his bedroom door.

He didn't fall asleep immediately. He listened, for a long time, hoping to hear if she were struggling with the day long into the night. Knowing, as he did, that he would only hear her if she wanted him to. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and drooped, until he thought he'd close them just for a moment or two to rest, until he slept.

Her eyes didn't close, they never grew heavy. Resisting sleep, they burned from the tears she couldn't stop from streaming. Mind reeling, trying desperately to make sense of the nonsensical, her heart broken over the lose of her intern.

Necessity is the mother of invention Booth had explained to her once. It was a colloquialism, an idiom. Out of necessity, she'd learned to cry silently. A skill she learned in foster care that saved her as a young teen in the system and had served her well many times over the years. This night, she didn't actually feel that well served by it. The more she considered it, the more it hurt. The more it hurt, the more she cried. She was stuck in a circle of thought that, no matter where she started, ended with her sweet, young, quirky intern thinking she didn't want him there at the lab. That he died thinking that broke her in a way she couldn't quite put into words. It all, every last bit of it, seemed senseless and painful.

Desperate, she sought out Booth. He understood these things, surely he would help her out of the Gordian knot she'd twisted herself into. He was her Alexander the Great, he knew her, knew her better than anyone. He had a beautiful way of explaining things in a way that she understood. Pulling her by the hand, she came to sit next to him on his bed. Her words, her tears, her pleading eyes, blamed a God she didn't believe in for not stopping such a horrible loss from happening.

"It doesn't work that way." His deep comforting voice, his painful honesty, echoed in her heart. The tender stroke of his thumb on the hand he'd been holding anchored her as he tried to right her teetering world. She wanted to be here with him, not alone on the couch. She barely asked, a couple words, a nod, her eyes glued to his bed. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her down. "Of course," he whispered to her. It's what he was there for.

He held her, as she sobbed, in that same position where they'd collapsed back on his bed. Then later, they wiggled and shifted and moved until he positioned them both under the covers. Every movement he made she countered, tightening her hold on him despite his constant reassurances that he wouldn't leave, that she didn't have to go. Finally, he felt her respond to that consoling hold he had on her, the long firm strokes along her back and arm reminding her she was safe with him. She was under his protection. She took a deep breath, what felt like the first one in hours and let herself fall into him.

He had no intention of this night being more that just what it had been. Two old friends comforting each other in the wake of a horrible senseless death. But, something changed. As one layer of her grief and pain was lifted, another rose to the surface. She could have lost him, he could have lost her. They both felt the tug, the pull of that dark and painful possibility. To lose one another before they'd ever found their moment.

It was then that she felt the shift, his long firm strokes lightened. They changed from consoling to comforting, from comforting to caressing. Each one seemed to allow her to relax a little more, adjust herself a little more, until her arms and legs were twisted and tied around his.

His hand slipped under that old grey sweatshirt he'd loaned her and came to rest in it's natural home, the small of her back. He didn't ask if it was okay, though he could barely breathe as he waited for her to respond. She didn't pull away. Her approval echoed in the softest sound, barely audible, she hummed her acceptance and approval. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. Letting her hand slide down his side she countered, found the edge of his shirt, hesitantly slipped her hand under it, and around his waist.

Their hearts raced, their breath shallow and quick, eyes danced as one simple innocent touch led to another, to a kiss, to more, until these two people, who'd waited so long to be ready for each other were carried away by their love, their hurt, their passion. Leaving no line, no separation, just two lovers bound into one.

Later, they'd reflect on it, try to break it all down, try to figure out where it all happened. Where did it start? That was easy. It started just where you'd it expect it to start, with his hand on the small of her back.


	2. A Storm Named Temperance

~ A Storm Named Temperance ~

Dr. Temperance Brennan did nothing less than storm fiercely out of the elevator and into the bullpen outside of Booth's office. Fisting a folded piece of paper, arms swinging in consternation.

All heads turned immediately in her direction. Some whispers floated and mixed, making them indistinguishable. Others were plain, uttered quietly, but intended to be heard. Someone, though no one would admit to it, hummed the theme of the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz. The agents and techs tried not to laugh. Their mistake was in thinking that she didn't hear them. Her hearing was exceptional, just like the rest of her. She didn't stop, didn't react, they and their petty opinions weren't her concern at the moment.

They watched as she assaulted locked office door. Shaking it violently as if that would turn a magic key and unlock it or, more importantly, make Booth appear. Pounding it in frustration and pure unfettered anger, she roared at the door. He was gone. She hadn't counted on that. He was supposed to be there, to be a voice of reason, to calm her down. She turned sharply on her heel and glared at the small groups of agents, who quieted suddenly and looked back at her in fear.

Letting out a loud huff of air, she stomped back to the elevator.

_Fine_, she thought to herself, _I'll deal with it myself._ Her finger reached out poking violently at the button for Sweets' floor. She sunk back in the elevator and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched the floors light up and pass by.

Her thoughts raced. Since her interns death, there's no doubt it had been difficult. She juggled her grief, her new relationship with Booth, the one no one knew about, with the exception of Angela, the anxieties and fears associated with having her stronghold, her safe place breached in such a devastating way. But, she was dealing with it, coping. Then, she comes into work and finds this "official" letter. It was one thing too many. She would cope with the rest, some of which she had to, some of which she wanted to, but, she would not do this. This was asking too much.

By the time the elevator reached his floor, her nose was nearly plastered to the doors, waiting for them to open. She pushed her way down the hall, more determined than ever to make this go away. Passing an angry secretary who demanded she wait, yelling at her, Dr. Sweets was with a client or patient or whatever she called him. Throwing the door open until it slammed into the wall of windows that held it up, she went straight into her argument.

"I will not comply, Sweets. You have no jurisdiction over me. You, you, you can't do this to me, to Booth, just because you want to play with our minds again. Is this because we refused to do partners therapy in the blizzard? Because Booth got angry with you, is that why you're doing this?" The young psychologist tried to answer, but she kept going. "It is, isn't it? You didn't get your way, we said no, and so you found a way to try and force us back into this office."

"Dr. Brennan." Sweets tried to speak calmly and not react to her tirate. "Why don't you sit down and we can discuss this?"

"No. No, I won't sit down in here. I don't want to sit down, not now, not today, not again." She felt her own ability to reason, to speak clearly, faltering as her heart pounded at an exponentially higher than normal rate. "How dare you use Mr. Nigel-Murray's death to your own advantage. Is this another experiment? You, you just think you can run more experiments on us." She was so angry, so full of rage, so focused on Sweets that she hadn't seen him standing at the window or the torn of pieces of an identical letter strewn across the coffee table that divided Sweets from his patients.

"What the hell? _More_ experiments? _More_? What experiment are you talking about, Bones?"

The whole world came to a screeching halt. Booth and Sweets both stared at her in silence as they waited for her answer, an answer she had no intention of giving. Booth saw her eyes widen, marching to her side, he grabbed her by the upper arm and literally pulled her from the office, as he called back to Sweets over his shoulder.

"This isn't over, Sweets."

Bypassing the elevator, he pulled her into the stairwell and down the stairs. Taking the stairs at a crazy pace until they hit the third or fourth landing down when he yanked her to a stop.

"Where are you parked?" He barked at her, his entire being pumping with adrenaline.

"Taxi." She spit back.

Tugging again on her arm, they kept heading down the stairs. "I'll take you back to the lab."

Normally, it would have seemed like such a kind hearted offer, but she knew him. He needed to get away from the Hoover to calm down. They were almost to his truck, when he pulled her sideways behind a thick cement support pillar effectively pinning her with one strong arm on either side of her. Pushing his body forcefully up against hers, the roar of his heavy breath in her ear, she could feel her heart race as it kept pace with his. She couldn't help the moan that escaped her.

"Temperance." He let his lips fall forcefully on hers in open, uncontrolled kisses, barely able to breathe much less talk in between. "Do you know, any idea, how…" He couldn't finish, his attention moved from her lips to her neck. "Turned on, you make, what you do, when you're mad." He groaned almost painfully as he paced his words unevenly between guttural sounds of pleasure and assaults on her neck.

"Booth." A half-hearted protest at best as she fought for some control. This wasn't the best way to keep their relationship secret, regardless, she found herself giving in. Reaching for his belt buckle, she tugged and pulled him closer. Then, watched with satisfaction as his eyes rolled and his head fall back. It was time for that string of expletives she'd discovered he reserved specifically to indicate the level of his own arousal. He had completely lost control of the situation as he felt her nimble fingers successfully working to undo his belt buckle.

"Okay, stop, because, we should stop now, you know, because, because." For the life of him he couldn't think of a good reason to stop.

"Because we'll get caught." Enunciated perfectly, said so seductively and clear, he moaned painfully and let his head fall on her shoulder. "Caught." She whispered it in his ear as she kissed her way down his neck, his moans went from painful to pitiful. "Right here in the Hoover parking structure."

He pulled away, batting at her hands as she fought to unhook his dress pants. Finally getting some distance, he laughed, shaking his head at her as he tucked his shirt back in, rehooked his pants, and fixed his belt. Grabbing her once again by the upper arm, he pulled her towards the truck ignoring her giggles, depositing her in the passenger seat and closing the door.

The sound of the doors closing snapped them back to reality and reality brought an ominous feeling with it. They drove in silence for several blocks before he couldn't bare it anymore.

"So, Sweets experimented on us?"

"It was a long time ago."

"You never told me." A touch of hurt echoed in his voice.

"You would have killed him."

"Probably." Taking her hand, he gave it a little squeeze then lifted it to his lips for a quick kiss. He caught her biting her lip nervously, eyeing him carefully. Always in a state of careful consideration, this lady he loved, always thinking it all the way through to the end before acting.

"When you died for those two weeks." She added softly.

"I didn't die, Bones, you know that."

"I didn't know it then, Booth, to me you were dead." The words stung. They'd never really talked about it, after everything happened with Zack, it had been dropped and carefully avoided until it was so far in the past that it never came up. "That's not the point. The point is he took my name off the list of people to be notified to quantify my reaction to your death for his book."

Booth was silent. She watched as his knuckles clenched the steering wheel, as his eyes darted between her and the road, as his jaw began a feverish pulse.

"You're right, I would've killed him." He looked over at her at the next red light. "We'll talk more about this, okay? Tonight." He nodded at her and waited for her to nod back in understanding. Her eyes were wide with concern, but the light changed and they turned their attention back to the road driving the rest of the way to the Jeffersonian in near silence. Lingering when he parked to let her out, he could feel her anxiousness rise up. She forced herself to verbalize it, needing his reassurance and comfort.

"What are we going to do about Sweets, Booth, about the order for partners therapy?"

"We'll talk about that too, okay, tonight?" Looking her straight in the eye, giving all the confidence and protection he could offer. "I promise, we'll get this thing with Sweets worked out, but for now we just stick to the plan, right? No one knows." Squeezing her hand, he reminded her. "This is ours." Then laid a quick, gentle kiss on her forehead. "Just between us."

Her smile was all he needed. She hopped out of the truck and made her way into the Jeffersonian, down the twisted halls to the Medico-legal Lab, and into her office with Cam on her heels.

"Dr. Brennan." Bones would never show it outwardly, but she cringed internally at the snide, authoritative edge Dr. Camille Saroyan took with her. "I just got off the phone with Dr. Sweets."

"Cam." She addressed her informally. It was both an effort to stop what she knew was going to be a long, explanation followed by an order she had no intention of following and to put the conversation on equal ground, more like peers talking.

"Dr. Bren-"

She held up her hand. "I don't wish to discuss it, not here, not in Sweets' office, not anywhere."

"Well, you're going to have to, Dr. Brennan, you don't get a choice in the matter."

Looking past Cam, her eyes darted around the forensics platform, up to the plywood covered hole in the ceiling. It had been two weeks and yet the images that flashed in her mind of that day were just as vivid and real as the day they happened. The plywood cast a dark shadow across the floor of the lab, stretched and distorted the way shadows are. They stood on the edge of that shadow as it seemed to taunt and threaten to pull her in. Why did the ordering and replacement of the glass have to take so long?

Absently, she grabbed her labcoat. "We don't have a case right now, I'll be in limbo if you need me." She couldn't stay there, couldn't be swallowed up by it. Bolting out of her office and the center of the lab, her boots, solid and firm, pounded loudly as she went. That was where she placed her focus, concentrated, counting her steps as she moved quickly to calm herself. She didn't hear Dr. Camille Saroyan call after her.

"Ignoring me won't change my decision, Dr. Brennan." Her voice started out loud and authoritative, but quickly quieted and trailed off into almost nothing. Flustered, she rolled her eyes, turned on her heel, and worked her way back to her office, shaking her head in disgruntled acceptance. She'd try Booth, maybe he could talk some sense into her.

Closing the old heavy doors to bone storage behind her, Brennan backed herself up against them and took a moment to catch her breath. She would find solace here, this was what she needed. This and Booth, between the two she was sure she could work through the loss of her intern. Psychology, therapy, Sweets, he wasn't the answer. He was danger and at the moment the center of her greatest fear. That she would gain Booth as a lover and lose him as a partner. It was an unbearable thought. Swallowing hard, she counted to regulate her breathing as she tried to choke back the tidal wave of emotion associated with it.

She managed to stay tucked away safely in limbo for the remainder of the day avoiding everyone. Processing the problem, she turned and twisted it until she'd viewed it from just about every angle. It seemed the order for therapy was unavoidable. The problem, she concluded, was the eventuality of revealing their relationship to Sweets and their co-workers, beyond Angela, who already knew. Sweets, as he had so eloquently pointed out over the years, had power and pull over whether their partnership survived or was dissolved. There had to be some way to leverage that pull to their benefit, rather than have it hang over their heads like a guillotine. Admittedly, she couldn't think of a way to make that happen right now. Her concern, as the day wore on, centered on whether she'd made it worse by her display of anger and resistance.

Booth would tell her not to worry, she reminded herself, that it would all work out. She wondered at times whether he understood, sure that things working out would require their action, their control, rather than happenstance or carefree avoidance on their part. This was one of the many ways in which they approached life differently. That used to scare her, used to be evidence of why they wouldn't work. Even though it had only been two weeks, minus the previous years of interaction, she had come to see that their differences created a sort of balance that suspended both of them between their opposing attitudes and attributes. She craved that balance today, needed his voice, his strong arms, calming words, tender looks and explanations to find it. Waiting for work to be over seemed unbearable.

She made it. In fact, she'd done such a good job in losing herself in her work that she was running late to meet Booth at his apartment. The emptiness of the lab surprised her when she finally came up from bone storage. A quiet that she usually only saw in the middle of the night had usurped the early evening. Gathering her belongings from her office, she fingered the crumpled demand for partners therapy letter before casting it away for good. Enough was enough for today.

She left.

Greeted by a curious sight, she set her belongings down and locked the door of Booth's apartment behind her. There was a candle lit and flickering in the tiny book case that hid his gun safe. Another on an end table by his over stuffed chair, on the coffee table, on the antique liquor cabinet, one she could barely see on his dresser. She followed the path of candles all the way to the bathroom where Booth's old record player filled the steamy air with the low liquid tones of jazz. Followed them right to the tub where Booth waited for her, already submerged in hot steamy water. Balance, without even a word from him, she felt balanced.

"You're late." There was no ire in his voice, only concern.

"I lost track of time." The words tumbled out as she fought to keep herself upright and make short work of stripping with only one goal in mind, join Booth.

Stepping gingerly into the bath, she felt his hands steady her then travel up her thighs as she sank into the water, settling between his legs. He asked her something else, maybe more than one thing, but her mind had wandered wrapped, like her body, in his comfort. His small chuckle brought her back, the smooth movement of his hands under the water sent her adrift again. It took sometime before her body and mind reconnected, unintentionally jolted by Booth's admission.

"Cam came by my office this afternoon."

~ooo0ooo~

_A/N Admittedly, this chapter scared me. Especially after such a resounding vote of approval and so many encouraging and wonderful reviews and comments. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Please let me know what you think, I'm anxious to know._

_Special thanks go out to my dear craftyjhawk who still has patience and commas enough to deal with me :)_


	3. Off to a Rough Start

According to plan she arrived at their scheduled therapy appointment first. It was awkward as Sweets welcomed her and tried to make small talk. She made it more awkward by answering in short one word answers, her mind drifting through the long stretches of silence that weighed heavy in the room.

Booth had told her to go ahead and be mad, be angry, be as resistant as she wanted to be for at least this first session. Those were her genuine emotions, no acting required. It would seem unnatural if they were to all of a sudden be cooperative. It would be disingenuous and fake and _that_ would arouse suspicion. Soon enough they'd have to start playing nice and get Sweets back on their side. They'd need his help to deal with Noble, Hackers replacement.

It wasn't a conversation she'd planned on having as they shared a bath. In all honesty, once she saw the string of candles leading to the bathtub she hadn't planned on any conversation at all. But, when he let it slip that Cam had come by his office the evening started rapidly going sideways.

She'd pulled away from the comfort of Booth, turned sharply in the tub, and drew her knees up to her chest.

"Whoa, wait, stop." He frantically tried to pull her back into his arms as she pulled away. "You're going to hurt your back on the faucet, Bones. Slow down." His admission that Cam had come to speak to him that afternoon felt like a betrayal.

"What did she want?" She wrapped her arms around her knees protectively and rested her chin on her arms as she stared at him and waited for his answer.

A small huff and tilted head, his exasperation mimicked in his words. "You know what she wanted, Bones. She wanted me to get you to go along with this whole therapy thing Sweets cooked up. She said she thinks we need it." He didn't like the distance that she'd created between them. Reaching out, he let his finger brush along her ankles as he talked.

"Why?" Her eyes somewhere between fiery and hurt, her voice caught between demanding and pouty. She braced herself for some personal attack relating to her inability to deal with emotions, some misplaced concern over her decision to compartmentalize such events and continue to work rather than let her emotions be as visible as everyone elses. Just because she didn't show it in front of everyone others seemed to think she never felt the depth of sorrow or compassion or hurt that they did. Assumptions angered her.

"Well, the obvious, of course, is Vincent's death." He took a long deep breath letting it out as he caught her eyes. "But she said that Sweets has concerns that our partnership hasn't been the same since we got back. That Hannah, you know, was harder on you, and our partnership than you let on." The small circles he traced with his fingers along her skin were calming, almost intoxicating.

"Hannah's gone." An odd statement of fact, just the kind he'd grown to expect from his beautiful partner. It brought a smile to his eyes.

"Yes, she is."

"It's in the past, it's over." She nearly quoted Booth, though he didn't realize it at the time. The memory of his anger, the rattle of the frozen peas as they tumbled and rolled over, down, around the stuck elevator, was all quite vivid. That was the last time Sweets had approached them suggesting therapy. He'd referred to them as a couple. They weren't at the time. Now she lifted her eyes to meet Booth's.

"Yeah, well I agree but Sweets and Cam seem to feel it needs to be revisited, that it drove a wedge between us." He let his hands travel up her calves, wrapping around them he pulled her whole body close. Searching her eyes, he watched her body language, anything, everything to get a read on what she felt beneath her tightly bound and protected exterior.

The creak of the door when Booth entered Sweets' office, the familiar sound of his weighted footsteps, his rhythm, his gait. It snapped her attention back from where she'd let her mind wander. She looked back over her shoulder, over the back of the small loveseat to see him coming towards her. Booth had followed her to the appointment, arriving a little late, a little snarky, but cooperative enough to not get written up or fired, all according to plan.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, I'm glad you two decided to move forward with this-" She didn't even let him finish his first full sentence.

"No, Sweets, no." Her arms tight to her body, she raised one hand in motion for him to stop. "_We_ didn't decide to move forward with this. _We_ were coerced into it, threatened by our respective employers with the termination of our partnership. Don't think for a second that _we_ are willing participants because _we_ are _not_, at least I'm not. I suppose I shouldn't speak for Agent Booth."

_Agent Booth,_ Sweets couldn't help pat himself on the back for this move to bring them back in for therapy. She never referred to him as Agent Booth, clearly things were worse than they could see. They would thank him later, maybe not now, not in the foreseeable future, but, later down the road, they would see how he saved them, maybe even facilitated the progression of their personal relationship, if he worked it right.

"No, you got it right, Bones." Booth held the squishy sumo wrestler stress ball. He'd been distracted by his own quick pace of squeeze and release that made the wrestlers head grow big and distort then shrink back to it's regular shape.

"Look." Sweets tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the irritation in his voice. "A lot has happened since you two returned from your respective trips away and resumed your partnership, a lot of things that could weigh on even the best partnership. Don't look at this as some kind of forced torture look at it as an opportunity to build." He had a way with stupid hand gestures that made Brennan feel like she was watching a car salesman or motivational speaker try to emphasize important points. "So we are going to get back to some basics, starting with some trust exercises."

Groans, sighs, disgruntled slumped bodies protested his starting point. This was one of her fears, that Sweets would come up with reasons for them to touch and that if they touched he would be able to read the change in their relationship solely from their body language. _Direct that nervousness, that worry, _Booth had told her last night, _and Sweets won't know. He'll think your mad at me. _She let her anger at Sweets carry her just a little farther as they seemed to retrace the steps of their first meeting with him. Standing face to face he told them to move closer and closer then bring their hands up to meet one anothers, palm to palm. They knew what was coming next. He would instruct them to let themselves lean into one another.

Seeing his hands, raising her own to meet his, reminded her of last night, of the tub. Booth had a way with her, soothed her overactive mind, eased her fears. He'd slowly reeled her back into his arms. Her hands, his, first palm to palm, just like Sweets wanted them to to stand now. Then intertwined, holding to one another, clinging to what they were secretly building, their foreheads touched gently as she'd straddled his body. At first she'd leaned into him but as he kissed his way down her body she'd leaned back, arching to give him space, lost in the feel of his arousing touch. It awakened her every sense in the most beautiful way.

Physically shaking the memory off she caught herself. "No, these are just ridiculous trust exercises we've done before. What would be the purpose, they're redundant." She let all that energy, that desire sparked by memory, to pour out in disdain for Sweets' process as she pulled away from Booth. He saw it in her eyes, that flash of passion, their shared memory. Grabbing her wrists, he held her there with him hoping she'd take it as a form of support.

"Actually, Dr. Brennan, what you're experiencing is the manifestation of the very problem I'm hoping to address through these therapy sessions. It's broken trust, for you that would equate to betrayal, that I believe goes all the way back to before you two parted ways and you went to Maluku and Agent Booth went to Afghanistan." Sweets gestured with his hands to illustrate his point. "Those events drove a wedge deep into your partnership. One that has affected every aspect of your partnership since then." His hands together he pointedly pushed to emphasize how deep and real this wedge had been driven. "The goal, my goal in these sessions is to remove that wedge so that you can both heal. That starts by rebuilding your trust which is why these trust building exercises are important."

Booth interrupted. "Hey, stop, just stop right there! You're assuming you know things when you have no idea-" Booth fought desperately to maintain control of his anger as he huffed the words out through clenched teeth. He was enraged by the tone and implications of Sweets' accusations.

"I see you two are still fiercely protective of one another." Sweets watched Booth's demeanor change as Dr. Brennan slipped her hands down until they rested on his briefly. A noticeable calm fell over Booth. "That's a good thing." Sweets added as an attempt to salvage this session that seemed to be spinning out of control. Pulling back just a little the pair made small adjustments in posture, widening their stance, stiffening their posture as if they were bracing themselves, resigned to their fate. Their hands now hovered close but didn't touch.

Booth's phone rang first followed quickly by hers. With giddiness they both announced they had a case and headed for the door. Sweets called after them, they weren't done. When he got insistent that they finish at least this brief exercise reminding them of his mandate. Booth turned, came up behind Sweets, and forcefully invited him to come with them to the crime scene to finish their mandated therapy. It was nothing less than a pissing match.

She questioned whether any of them won. Though she was relieved to be out of Sweets' office and far away from his trust exercises she didn't want him at the crime scene. She certainly didn't want him riding with them, hovering, watching their every interaction. Her intense scowl directed at Booth behind Sweets' back made that clear.

"I know how important it is for you to get to that crime scene before anyone messes with your remains." Booth's intensity spilled over as he eyed her back.

"Good, then you won't mind if I drive considering it's at the Jeffersonian Zoological Park, an area of town which I am clearly more familiar with than you ." He shot her a look.

"How on Earth could you be more familiar with it than me, Bones? It's not like I'm not over there everyday, hell, multiple times a day."

"To the Zoo?" She paused for effect but continued before he could answer. "The Jeffersonian has a working partnership with the research facilities at the zoo_, I_ do consulting work for them on a consistent basis." Her anger had turned to snipiness.

Back and forth they bickered as they took the elevator to Booth's office. Back and forth all the way down to the parking garage. Back and forth as they walked to his parking stall. Back and forth until she pulled straight from their morning meeting with Sweets.

"If you trusted me, you'd let me drive." Sweets was sure his jaw actually dropped open as he waited for Booth's response craning his neck to catch a good view of the man's face.

"Fine, Bones, I trust you." He walked around to the passenger side, grabbed her messenger bag off her shoulder, placed the keys in her hand as he spun her around, and gave her a little push as he sent her off to the drivers side in one fluid move. "You drive." His jaw was popping, his teeth clenched, and although he'd made such a final statement in handing over the keys he couldn't help but throw one more jab as they settled in the car. "See, Sweets, you got your _trust_ exercise in after all." Sweets was about to answer but Booth kept going turning his attention back to Bones. "The bigger question is why don't _you _trust _me_. After how many years of me driving you to crime scenes, all of a sudden you think I can't get you there."

"I'm a good driver, Booth." There was a tinge of hurt in her voice. "I can get us there, too." The truck was in reverse and headed out of the parking garage before she'd finished her thought. Sweets, so carried away by the intense back and forth of their argument, hadn't even noticed that she didn't have to adjust the seat or mirrors when she got in to drive.

"I never said you couldn't, Bones." Booth flashed her a smile. "Hey." She glanced his way quickly then set her eyes back to the road. "I trust you."

Sweets, despite all his years working with and counseling them, still had a hard time understanding how their dynamic worked. It shouldn't. No partnership or couple should be able to survive the amount of arguing these two engaged in. The constant disagreement, constant bickering, should have broken them apart years ago. His theory was as complex as this coupling. The banter, he theorized, was some form of foreplay to the relationship they denied themselves. The intensity of arguing certainly releases adrenaline which triggers all those feel good brain chemicals. He could see the wash of pleasure they seemed to get out of it. At the same time it was a little torturous, a punishment for what they denied themselves, a way they punished each other. Probably more important, the bickering kept them from sucumbing to those constant urges to take their relationship to the next level.

His plan to fix it was simple, get them past these most recent hurdles, help them acknowledge their feelings for each other and move their personal relationship to the next level. He'd been doing his research, if he could get them there he believed he had a way of working past the FBI's rules against co-worker or consultant relationships. In the meantime, he'd sit back and weather the ride.

Thank goodness for short trips, even with traffic and the remote area of the zoo where the bodies had been found they were at the crime scene in about fifteen minutes. Sweets was first out of the truck leaving the two with just enough private time for Booth to grab her hand and give it a gentle squeeze as he checked to make sure they were okay.

"I had to…" She started to explain. She'd pushed to drive knowing that if Booth got in he'd have to adjust the seat and mirrors. She'd driven them into the Hoover that morning a fact that could have easily blown their cover.

"I know." He'd caught that and did his best to help distract Sweets. With that they were out of the truck, grabbing equipment and on the case.

There was a peaceful familiarity to their work, an ease of routine that settled between them. Though Sweets had helped with many cases he was almost never at the crime scene as they gathered evidence and prepared to remove the body. He was easily swept away in watching the techs, officers, agents, and Jeffersonian staff. Giving them a sense of freedom from oversight as his attention darted from one activity to the next. Until Booth called him over and asked if he wanted to ride back to the Hoover with one of the other agents or techs. He declined, patted Booth on the shoulder and proceeded to tell him what a brilliant idea coming with them had been. Saying that shadowing the pair as they worked had been a great idea Sweets staked out his territory over the rest of their day.

Generally, the three worked well together, had for years. The interruption of that workable relationship largely revolved around Sweets feeling the need to intervene in their personal lives, which never seemed to end well. The angered heat of the morning had dissipated and the three enjoyed a casual lunch together discussing the case. Booth carefully sidestepped the conversation away from their partnership and kept it pointed towards Sweets, even enduring a long discourse on Daisy and their relationship. Before long they were headed back to the Jeffersonian to check on the remains and see what kind of progress had been made since they left the crime scene.

The day finally started to seem manageable until they walked into the Jeffersonian. Tarps draped the equipment and floor of the forensics platform. Workers dangled from harnesses as they scraped loose old shards of glass and prepared for the new piece to be settled into place. It rained tiny shards and old painted wood scrapings. Sights and sounds reminiscent of that terrible day. Booth and Sweets both stopped abruptly and watched as she took in every detail of the scene. A wave of emotional reactions played out in her eyes as she fought to keep them underwraps.

"Oh boy." Sweets let slip before he could think about it. She stiffened before turning, shot Sweets a hurt glare, and hurried off to her office without a word.

If there'd been time Booth probably would have slapped Sweets across the back of the head. He shouldn't have said anything. Instead he added his own look of disdain before he followed Bones into her office. They circled one another for a moment before settling. She ended up facing the platform, watching the activity from the safety of her office. He watched her wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms and shelter her from everything going on around her.

Sweets watched. Though he certainly tried to not be obvious about it, averting his eyes, making it look like he was watching the workman.

He saw awkwardness, not the comfort and ease that used to be so natural for these partners. There was an awkwardness, though Sweets didn't understand it. This new relationship put them in old situations but forced them to seek new lines and boundaries for work. They were way past guy hugs in private but this was far from private.

Sweets saw Booth retreat, close himself off to her and her pain by folding his arms across his chest. He saw frustration bordering on anger. What he didn't see and didn't understand was the deep sense of helplessness that Booth felt when faced with her barely restrained pain. The urge was so great he folded his arms tightly across his chest in an attempt to keep himself from all the simple comforts his hands wanted desperately to give her at the moment. To tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, to wipe an errant tear, to hold, to caress, to let her know she didn't have to carry this burden of grief alone. He couldn't do any of those things right now. So he quietly talked to her and hoped, even prayed, it was enough.

"You okay, Bones?"

She didn't answer at first, completely absent, lost in the blur of past and present. He was about to ask again when she whipped her head back towards him and stated the obvious.

"They're replacing the glass."

"I know." It was soft, reassuring.

"That's good." The echo of tiny pieces of glass hitting the floor still ringing in her ears. Her hesitancy revealed a level of uncertainty and her own doubts that the fixed ceiling would fix the grief. She took a full breath letting it out slow, measured, deliberate then turned to Booth. "I need to work now." Nodding in agreement, in understanding he silently stood, grabbed her labcoat, and held it up for her as she slid into it. She knew she'd find stability and security in work.

Sweets saw so few words exchanged he ached for the partners who used to share everything. It had only been a few months since he'd asked Booth whether he'd talked to Dr. Brennan about Broadsky and his experiences as a sniper. Booth's words echoed in his head. "I don't go there anymore. That's over." Sweets cringed at the thought as he watched, judging their interaction through her office windows. He completely missed the subtleties, the subtext that were always present with these two. Enough was enough, lost in his theories, his concerns for them, what he viewed as evidence he continued to plot a way to fix what was so clearly broken between them.

It would be hours before Booth was alone with her. Hours before they walked through her apartment door and closed it. He grabbed at her. Taking her bag, her coat her, her keys, setting them all aside. Feeling the freedom, he could finally reach out and touch her in those simple reassuring ways he wanted to all day. When he did she fell thankfully into his comfort. Her compliant and willing body soaked up every kiss, every act of tenderness, every offer of support as she reciprocated freely in return. They tried to create balance by matching the restraint of the day with a completely uninhibited night.

Rage, fear, grief, all translated to passion. Rhythmic, consoling passion that carried them away from all the demands and troubles. The ease of which soothed and rocked her gently until she felt his body pulse within her own. It was a oneness that she didn't understand the power of before Booth. A connection, a unity that she was barely beginning to comprehend. She pulled him close, gripping his bare shoulders with all her strength, burying her face in his neck where she could feel his heart pound powerfully for her. Coming to the beautiful and terrifying conclusion that she could never lose him, because losing him would mean losing herself.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long. I got part of the way through it and had to rethink the whole thing as I decided exactly how I was going to tell this story but it's all settled now and hopefully will move forward a little faster. Please let me know how you liked this chapter after reworking it several times I am definitely a little nervous. Reviews make all the difference.

Thanks

DG


	4. Learning to Listen

Stretching out across the bed he fought to keep his eyes open as he listened to her distinctive undertones of anger and frustration echoing from the other room. The way she closed the cabinet, set the coffee cups down on the counter, slammed the refrigerator door, rattled the silverware drawer as it refused to slide closed willingly, even the clanking of the spoon hitting the sides of the coffee cup while she stirred in cream and sugar, it was all a little louder and more abrupt. She would deny it, if he asked her if she was mad, she'd tell him no. One last stretch as he rubbed his hand across his own bare chest and he was out of bed, slipping into his boxers and headed to the kitchen to see what had his beautiful scientist in a snit.

This transition was off to a rough start. When Booth imagined them finally coming together it had always been out of uncontrollable passion. He'd enjoyed the fantasies, he had to admit that. But his concerns that a flash of passion would kill any possibility of a long term relationship kept him under control, looking for something different, wanting something different. They were supposed to be coming together out of a mutual desire to not be apart any more. He waited for that, knowing he could have had her a million times over if he wasn't in it for the long haul. The night Hannah left he knew what Bones was asking when she wanted to know what happened next, even drunk he knew. The night of that blizzard, when it seemed like some kind of sick trick the universe played on him, trapping them together. The night he hung that science fair medal around her neck the finder tried to woo her with. Each had their own alluring draw. Each, and a million more, had tempted him. What he had never expected was that grief would bring her into his arms.

"Morning." He whispered against her neck. She jumped, gasped, elbowed him in the chest with just enough force to land somewhere between pissed and playful. He held her close from behind. The solidness of his hands pressed against her tummy and pulled her back towards him threatening to sweep all her anger away .

"Why do you keep doing that to me?"

"What?" Trying to feign innocence he laid a simple kiss behind her ear enjoying the shiver that ran through her body.

"You know what and don't try to pretend you don't." There was an edge to her tone, a hint of anger. "Don't sneak up on me like that." Her voice was firm even though her body had folded back into his own and she swayed back and forth as he rocked them gently. She was trying, fighting her own resistance to his affection.

"Another nightmare?" She didn't respond, which told him everything he needed to know. "I'm not leaving, Bones, I promise. This is exactly where I want to be."

"That could change, you could change your mind." She stiffened in his arms. "It's part of life. I have to accept that."

"You can't build something with me if you're constantly expecting me to turn around and leave you." Fear, he figured, was the biggest threat to their relationship. "I need you to trust me."

"I _do_ trust you." Grabbing her shoulders he turned her tenderly around until she was facing him. Her eyes, deep like the ocean, emotions seemed to roll like waves in them, to and fro, never settling. Pleading, at the moment, wanting him to believe in her own belief in him. "I have never trusted anyone more."

"This won't change. Not for me." She wouldn't look at him though, averting her eyes, turning her head. It took a minute but he got her there, with him. "I love you, you know that right? That won't change. It never has." He lost her again, as her eyes wandered and the uncomfortable fidgets and repositioning betrayed her attempts to look casually engaged. He brought her back to him, again. "You are the one I love the most, Temperance, you, just you." His voice a simple whisper now, low, solid, sure. "I have waited so long for you, I promise, I am not going anywhere."

He was fighting a string of nightmares, an intangible foe. Booth could always tell when she'd had one, she'd wake up mad at him. It wasn't rational, she told him, but she had a hard time fighting the mood they put her in. She, of all people, should be able to separate these dreams from reality and disregard them. Her inability to effectively separate them made her angry and frustrated with herself.

Booth pulled her into the living room, sat in his chair and pulled her onto his lap.

"We need to get ready to go." Resisting in word as she settled in on his lap like she wanted to stay.

"We can take a few minutes. You wanna tell me about it?"

"No." The rolling emotions in her ever changing eyes moved towards embarrassment. Her head fell on his shoulder as she let out a long pensive breath. Sometimes there were more words in their silence than in their conversations. He answered her fear with reassurance, her frustration with tenderness, eased her irritation all without a word. Then she ceremonially patted his shoulder letting him know she was done and needed to move on. Before she could move completely away he stopped her, pulled her back, letting his hand come up to her cheek, his thumb gently stroking the soft skin below it.

"We'll make it, you and I, we're going to make it." A simple kiss, shared _I love yous_, and they were off.

It would be a long day, they both knew that. Beginning with a case that seemed to be more trouble than it should be and ending in another therapy appointment with Sweets. This was not a good day for a therapy session that much was obvious. Bones was already struggling, she didn't need Sweets poking and prodding, pushing her. He wanted more than anything else to call and cancel but he knew they couldn't, not after their appointment last week had been cut short by a new case, new crime scene.

Even the idea of work was a relief to her. Anticipation growing the closer she got to the Jeffersonian. She buried herself in the bones of their latest victim. The twisted, complicated nature of this case all the better today. She batted away the invading thoughts of her dreams refocusing on a woman who needed a name, a voice, justice. An attempt to banish the thoughts and flashes of Booth leaving her that haunted her dreams, the feeling of impending rejection and abandonment. Her mind had mixed him with countless terrifying circumstances throughout her life. It was no longer her parents leaving and never coming back on Christmas Eve, it was Booth. He left her, he sailed away, he drove off heading out West, beautiful blonde women stealing him. Regardless of how the dreams started out they ended with her alone and Booth gone.

Feeling the effects of her own mental and emotional struggle and dreading the inevitability of their Sweets appointment had left her intolerant and biting. Everyone at the lab gave her a wide berth, let her hide most of the day, only bothering her when absolutely necessary. The general consensus; Dr. Temperance Brennan didn't have the emotional coping skills to deal with the pressure and grief of watching her intern, Vincent Nigel-Murray, bleed out at her knees. There was a measure of compassion from her techs and interns. After all, who's really prepared to deal with that?

Booth, on the other hand, was having a hard time keeping his cool. Punished for crimes he didn't commit, would never in a million years commit, trying to protect her from herself, concerned about their meeting with Sweets, he took her to lunch in the name of getting an update on the case.

"What's wrong?" There was an irritation in his voice that she accepted as deserved.

"Nothing."

"You don't seriously expect me to believe that, right?"

"Yes." So stubborn, she could be so stubborn. He took a deep breath, leaned in.

"It's not my fault, you know?" She looked confused.

"Of course it's not your fault. I don't think you murdered her, Booth."

"That's not what I'm talking about." He kicked himself, Bones was always so literal. Having this conversation in a public place meant it had to be implied, not overt, which she probably wouldn't understand the way he needed her to. He leaned in across the table and whispered. "The dreams, they're not my fault." Leaning back he let his eyebrows rise and waited for a response.

"I know." She watched his jaw pulse. "But it's not just the dreams." It was her turn to talk softly. "I just need to think things through." There was a cross between hurt and anger in his eyes and she immediately felt guilty, she'd said that wrong, he didn't understand.

"I thought we were done thinking about this. I thought we were _doing_ this." He looked away from her as she felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach.

"We are, Booth, we are." Her tone shifted, softened. He could hear the pain in it. "It's _not _you, it's _me_." The implication was clear. She always feared she'd screw things up with Booth, she didn't say it now but it was understood by both of them. The past rose up, her words echoed in his head, she'd said it the night he'd asked her to take a risk with him and try to have a relationship. _It's you that needs protecting from me_. He brought his eyes back to hers, the pain in them tightened his throat. He forced a tender understanding smile.

"It's not you, there's _nothing_ wrong with you, Bones, it's not you." His eyes darted around the diner. Why did they have to be here? Regardless of the clanking dishes, the chatter of the lunch crowd, the constant ringing of the the bells that hung from the door as people came and went Booth still didn't feel safe diving into their relationship here. Too many of their associates ate here, the risk was too great. Catching her eyes, offering her all he could in this public place he leaned back in and whispered. "It'll be okay." He nodded adding his reassurance. "_We'll_ be okay." Then he changed the subject. The rest of lunch was case related. There was safety for her in facts. The tangible, concrete world of science was not nearly as difficult to traverse as emotions and relationships and he watched as the science soothed her.

On the way back to her office he pulled her into a darkened hallway and cornered her, leaning in close.

"It's not you, I need you to know that, Bones, really know it, okay? You're just scared and that's okay, this is scary. But, I'm not going anywhere, understand? We are going to make it but you _have_ to trust me. You need to think some things through, I understand, but you have to talk to me and tell me what you're thinking." He could already see she wasn't going to let him in that easily. He'd have to work for it. "God, I love you, every stubborn little inch of you." Just an inch closer and he felt his cheek brush against hers, heard her breath catch.

"I'm not stubborn." She countered, her frustration faded into a soft smile. Pausing, she took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "I don't want to go to see Sweets this afternoon."

"I know." Shifting his weight he moved a little closer. "I don't want to either. But, Noble is riding my ass about it. I can't get us out of it."

"I know." Her hushed resignation was oddly comforting. Fiddling with his tie she twisted it around her hand and pulled him in a little closer until their lips barely brushed. Barely into a stolen kiss, the buzz of his cell phone interrupted them drawing out an exasperated sigh echoed in unison from the pair. The text was from Hodgins, they thought they finally had something to go on. Hopefully something to give the case some traction. Pulled out of the world of their new relationship, still standing on wobbly legs, still very much a fantasy they expected to wake up from at any moment, and back to work. Work that would keep them busy all afternoon. Eventually he'd leave the Jeffersonian to follow up with some leads before heading to the Hoover. She'd barricade herself in the bone room for more time alone with the remains.

It was easier after lunch, she felt calmer, more centered. Her anxiety eased, her fears faded which allowed her to get completely lost in the touch and feel of the bones. She was carried away by the search for answers, so much so that she didn't realize she was running late for their late afternoon appointment with Sweets until her cell phone alarm rang.

Cringing she left behind her work in the bone room, incomplete, she hated leaving anything incomplete. She raced to her office, slipped out of her labcoat, grabbed her bag and keys. Hurrying she complained to herself all the way to the Hoover, angry at traffic and Noble and Sweets for taking her away from her work. She parked and ran bypassing the elevator when her repeated frantic pushes to the up button didn't bring it to her fast enough. She was winded when she burst through the door of Sweets' office. It was her turn to be late.

"I'm sorry I'm late." Her heart was still racing and her breath uneven as she tried to catch it and slow her body down. Sweets jumped up and got her a glass of water.

"No problem, Dr. Brennan, here why don't you have a seat and take a minute." She looked almost wildly between Booth and Sweets and three small bowls that were set out on Sweets' coffee table with several folded pieces of paper in each. The conversation drifted back and forth around the case as she sipped her water but her eyes couldn't help but dwell on those shallow dishes.

After a few minutes Sweets slapped his hands together then rubbed them excitedly.

"Are your phones on silent cause what we're doing tonight can't be interrupted?" The duo looked back at him like two teenagers asked to go clean their room. He smiled, almost laughed, at their expressions, but thought better of it. Instead he just continued. "Communication is the hallmark of any good partnership, communication and trust."

"We communicate just fine, Sweets, always have, right, Bones?" Booth started to argue. She started to agree with Booth. Both were cut short as Sweets raised his hand to stop them.

"I know you have in the past but I also know that Hannah-"

"I told you never to bring her up again."

"Agent Booth, I am merely saying that circumstances were different when you came back and experiences and memories you might have shared before you left didn't. This experience is meant to fill in those gaps."

Booth, who'd leaned forward aggressively at the mention of Hannah, sat back and folded his arms over his chest guardedly.

"In these dishes there are some words written on a pieces of paper, one word on each piece of paper. You pick a piece of paper and then I want you to tell me something that happened to you while you were away that fits with that word. A memory, something you haven't already shared with each other."

He was greeted with silence, better than argument unless the pair was totally disengaged and resistant. Sweets waited a minute, letting out a frustrated sigh, he continued.

"Some should be easy, some might be difficult and some will definitely be hard to share." He motioned at the dishes from his right to his left pointing to each dish as he went. 'There's one extra word in each bowl, one of you can pass on the word you have and pick another but only one per bowl, got it?"

The pair looked incredibly uncomfortable. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, I hope you take this exercise seriously. Assistant Director Noble has taken a personal interest, I am sure he'll be asking me how our appointment went tomorrow." And with that Sweets made it worse. "Okay, so why don't you two turn so you're facing each other."

The problem was they didn't want to look at each other. As much as Sweets was trying to bring them together, they were trying to appear separate. Before they even reached for a paper, it seemed their eyes darted, bouncing off one anothers whenever they connected.

"Dr. Brennan, why don't you go first?" Booth was okay with that, if she got a word that made her uncomfortable she could use the pass.

Glaring her discontent she reached in the first bowl pulling out a piece of paper and carefully unfolding it.

"Anticipation." Looking confused as to what she was supposed say she glanced over at Sweets as she started to define the word.

"No, Dr. Brennan, tell Booth about an experience where you _felt_ anticipation. Anything from right before you left until right after you came home." She was just opening her mouth to speak when Sweets interrupted her. "It has to be something, an experience, that Booth doesn't already know about." He motioned for her to continue. She nodded then started again still staring at Sweets.

"Anticipation." She said it long and drawn out as she thought.

"Do you wanna pass on that one, Bones?" Watching her struggle was hard. Nodding she set anticipation aside and reached for the bowl.

"Surprise." There was a moment when she was obviously thinking and then it visibly clicked. "Okay, I was surprised by the number of snakes." She had a well established fear of snakes. In fact, she once jumped on Booth's back after accidentally shooting him because she was so scared of a room full of snakes.

"You were in the jungle, Bones." Sweets put up his hand to stop him from interjecting.

"Agent Booth, no interruptions, no questions or statements, just listen, this exercise is just about listening."

She ignored Sweets and continued, answering Booth directly. "True. I suppose that wasn't the surprising part, the surprising part was that I wasn't afraid of them, not at all. More than once I reached down and picked them up and moved them out of the way with no fear whatsoever. I even commented on my lack of fear to Ms. Wick on several occasions. She on the other hand, was very fearful." She chuckled over that last part with an amused glee shining in her ocean eyes. The memory of Daisy's squeal still vivid.

She found Booth's reaction unsettling and hard to read. He looked almost hurt, which she didn't understand, confused as to why. Booth tried to contain it, though it was hard not to feel as if she was pointing out how she'd grown past him and her need to be protected by him. He knew she was strong, it was one of the things he loved about her but he also loved the little ways he could protect her, be strong for her. He loved that despite all that strength she still needed him.

"That's good, Dr. Brennan, but can you be more specific. Like pick one example, maybe the one that surprised you the most." Sweets guided, advised, encouraging her on.

"Oh, okay. One night I came back to my tent very late, I was tired, exhausted really. I hadn't slept well in several nights in anticipation of exploring a new part of the dig. I was very hopeful that this section would bring the answers we'd been looking for. I got up early and in the rush to get to the site left my bed unmade. When I crawled into bed that night I felt the cold scaly snake skin on my feet. That was not what I expected." She laughed, breaking the tension between her and Booth. He loved that laugh, low and uneven, genuine. "I did jump." She became endearingly expressive the farther she got into the story.

Sweets caught a glimpse of that softened connection in Booth's eye confirming to him that no matter how buried his affections for Dr. Brennan were, they were there. Booth lowered his gaze as he pulled back emotionally from the moment. Both men had lost track of what she was saying catching just the tail end.

"I didn't even walk it back to the forest. Just moved it outside my mosquito netting, crawled in bed, and went to sleep." Her excitement was captivating to Booth.

There was only one piece of paper in the easy bowl. Booth reached for it. Sweets watched as he tensed before reading it aloud.

"Love." His eyes drilled Sweets. This word, he knew, would be taken as treasonous, it screamed of Hannah and betrayal to his first and true love, Bones. He knew Sweets well enough to know that's exactly what Sweets had been driving at. If Bones had gotten it she could have spoken of those dreams of Booth she'd told him about or maybe some love she'd found over there in the jungle or loving her work. As for him, well, he was sure that Sweets expected him to talk about Hannah. That wasn't gonna happen, he said he wasn't going there again and he meant it.

"Hamid." Both Bones and Sweets looked at him, surprised, questions on the tips of their tongues. Booth shushed them and moved on. "Hamid was a little boy that lived near the base. The minute we were out he was right there. A lot of kids were, they all wanted to see the American soldiers or they wanted our candy. Most of us carried candy for the kids. But, Hamid was different. He could have cared less about candy. He wanted to know everything he could learn about America, wanted to learn English, wanted to hear about Parker and home. I told him about you, Bones." Smiling, he connected with her for just a moment. "And you too, Sweets." He looked away for a moment. She could feel the difference in him, something she couldn't name but felt crept into every aspect of his being, rolled off of him. "I taught him baseball." Booth smiled wistfully. "The boy could pitch." Swallowing hard he forced himself on. "He would tell me about how he was going to come to America one day and find me." Booth's hands fidgeted, he picked at his nail bed then looked out Sweets' office window.

Sweets was about to remind him that he was talking to Dr. Brennan and should be looking at her when Booth pulled his eyes back to meet hers. "He reminded me of Parker. I think I loved him like Parker, like a son. His father had been killed by insurgents." There was a quiet that hung in the air as Bones fought the urge to reach out and touch his arm, to give him that physical contact and reassurance. He saw it though, in the twitch of her fingers. He smiled at her, nodded, his way of saying he knew she was there for him.

As promised the second bowl was harder. Dr. Brennan chose first, picking anger. She spoke of the disappointment, frustration, the increasing anger she'd felt as it became obvious that the promised earth shaking scientific discoveries were not there in Maluku, not anywhere to be found. Booth picked pain. He talked about the pain of battle. How even though he knew more than most what to expect in a battle zone it still hurt to watch the anguish and pain that war brought. He left out the part where what he saw during this tour opened up the memories and torment of every tour he'd ever served. The tone in the room had become increasingly somber. They both stared at the last bowl, neither wanted to see what it had to offer.

Sweets was about to up his game. "You guys are doing great." He almost sounded surprised which irritated Booth.

"Yeah, well, communication has never been a problem for us, Sweets."

Sweets wasn't going to argue, choosing to ignore the bait Booth left for him he just moved on. "This time I want you to go first, Agent Booth." Booth rolled his eyes, that was fine he'd just take whatever he picked first leaving Bones the option to pass. Taking a ragged breath Booth leaned forward, his hand hovered over the folded papers, hesitating before he let out a heavy sigh and grabbed at one.

"Regret." His uneasiness apparent he flopped back on the couch, exhausted already from the experience, angry that Sweets was making him put into words events that were so close to his heart. His eyes were dark, jaw pulsing rapidly, his breath unnaturally even, Bones attributed that to his sniper training. Years of keeping himself under complete control paid off sometimes.

Booth cleared his throat. "I was in a…" His long pauses spoke volumes and she found herself holding her breath for him. "I was in a sniper posit-"

"Don't tell me." Sweets interrupted. "You're talking to Dr. Brennan, look at her, tell her." Booth nodded and turned his body back towards her. This was painfully hard for him, she saw that. He was about to start again when Sweets added. "And touch her." Both of their heads whipped around, settling on the psychologist. If looks could kill. "I want you to communicate, to connect. You're going to do that with your words, with eye contact and with a physical connection."

"Don't you think that's highly unprofessional for colleagues, partners who aren't, by FBI standards, supposed to be 'connecting'?" Her question was spit out in haste, it came out abrupt and defensive.

"Dr. Brennan, I am not asking you to hug or kiss. I just want you to hold his hand, like you were shaking it. Agent Booth doesn't have cooties I swear."

"What does that mean?" Confused by his colloquialism and angered by his request she pulled back as far away from Booth as possible on the small love seat taking a defensive position.

"Or, or you could put your hand on his knee and he could put his on yours like you were comforting a friend."

Booth rubbed his face in frustration then reached out for her hand.

"Remember, talk to her like it was just the two of you, I'm not even here." Not there and yet he leaned forward, excited, nearly in their laps.

Booth turned back to Sweets. "It would be _easier_ to pretend you _weren't_ here if you'd shutup."

Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes for just a moment as he tried to calm himself down. He turned back to Bones, taking her hand in his. Looking up into those eyes of hers, they looked strong now, supportive, and encouraging. "I was in a sniper position, my team placed around the square of this small little village."

So many interruptions had robbed him of the emotion of the event, they were just words, a recounting of history. "We'd gotten a tip that insurgents were planning a bombing. Tips were never reliable but we had to prepare for them, you know, just in case. I thought it was a bad one, a bad tip but then I saw him. I saw him and I knew." His heart was racing now, she could feel it in his wrist where she carefully placed her finger to monitor it. "I, I saw it but I didn't wanna see it you know? He wasn't a man, he was barely older than a boy."

"Booth." Her heart ached for him, it reached out through her tender tone. Through the years Sweets had given her more than one reason to not trust him. She'd dealt with those situations and moved past them but at the moment she hated him for doing this to Booth.

Booth gripped her hand tighter. "He didn't even have a full beard yet. The market was packed. Soldiers, women, children, vendors and this boy, this child about to end it. They didn't know, didn't see what I saw." His eyes darted, not settling as if he were looking across that market place all over again. "If I ignored him I knew what would happen. If I took the shot I'd be killing a child. He made a move, he was going for the detonator, I knew it, I saw it." Booth stopped there. A long stretch of silence spread between them. She squeezed his hand a little firmer trying to offer support, knowing it wouldn't, couldn't ever be enough.

Clearing his throat again Booth continued. "I took the shot, it was good, he would have taken out half the block he was so loaded with explosives. I killed him. I regret that."

"You had to do it, Booth, you had no choice." Pleading her case, trying to ease the pain.

"I know, but, I still regret it."

"All those people, those children, they would have died or been horribly injured. I know, I've seen the bones of victims like that. Bone injuries hurt, I know, you can't numb bone."

He hushed her, trying to calm her. "I know it had to be done, my regret is that I had to do it, that anyone had to do it. He was maybe thirteen or fourteen. He should be thinking about girls and dates and school not war and battle, not deciding to be a suicide bomber."

She nodded in understanding as she reached for the bowl and a piece of paper before Sweets could interrupt and poke at Booth. It was wise. Sweets was just opening his mouth when she blurted.

"Fear." She launched herself into her story. "There were several times that we were under attack from local militia groups." She looked up at Booth. "I told you about one such incident when I first got home. This one, the one I am referring to now, happened long before that incident. I had barely arrived only to discover that the dig was approximately 3.7 kilometers away from the camp." Booth looked confused and she could hear him in her head asking for the measurement in English. She smiled. "That would be approximately 2.3 miles. I was tired but anxious to view the site for myself. It was dinner time and their shuttles back and forth from the camp to the dig had stopped for the day so I decided to walk."

Seeing the concern in his eyes she tried to explain. "It was a well marked path, a makeshift road and it was still light out, Booth. I was careful. Despite that I was met by a band of rebels, they were traditionalists who wanted us off the land and away from burial grounds we were excavating. I soon found myself surrounded. I was out numbered by the men, there must have been at least ten, they were large and loud and carried weapons." The look of worry in Booth's eyes seemed to compound with each word. "I did my best to communicate with them, explain my position and standing in the camp but they just kept getting closer until my back was up against a large tree, an old growth Durian tree." She wanted to stop there, didn't want to go into anymore detail and was about to but Booth's painful honesty in sharing his experience pushed her to talk instead of run.

"I, I was afraid. I felt fear. They started, they moved closer, and they started to touch me." She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I knew their intentions were less than honorable. I realized there was no one coming to save me. I employed my-"

"They touched you?"

"Yes." Both Booth and Sweets marveled over her casual demeanor, her even voice. "I employed my considerable skills and martial arts training in extricating myself from the situation. I had to, it was just me. I was alone."

"They touched you? Inappropriately?"

"Yes. But I was able to extrica-"

"Extricate yourself, I know-"

"It means remo-"

"I _know_ what it means, Bones. Shit, Bones, they molested you and you just told that whole story like you were reading the nutritional info on the back of a box of cereal. Like it was _nothing_."

She knew what he was saying. It was a coping mechanism, distancing, and one of the many reasons she hated psychology. Distancing worked for her but every therapist that she'd ever seen, especially the ones while she was in foster care, told her it was unhealthy.

"I am fine, I was fine, _I_ handled it _myself,_ I got away and went back to the camp. From that time forward I didn't walk, I took one of the camp vehicles, and always traveled with someone, usually Ms. Wick." Diverting the topic to Daisy was quick and always irresistible to Sweets.

Booth looked over at the darkwood hour glass Sweets kept on his end table. "Wow, how time flies. Look at that, we're done." Standing he pulled Bones up by the hand. "See ya."

Dr. Brennan adjusted quickly following at first then within a couple steps leading. Sweets called after them, wanting to talk about what had just happened, talk about their next appointment, but it was too late. Shaking his head he fell back in his chair. As they were crossing the threshold of Sweets' office she quickly pointed out that she was going back to the lab.

"No." Booth was adamant. "No. _We're_ going home." He whispered it directly into her ear. It wasn't the tender whisperings of a lover. It was demanding. They kept quiet until they were out of the building and into the parking garage but then she couldn't contain it anymore.

"I am going back to work. This was a pointless diversion. I need to work."

"Really? Because my girlfriend just told me that she was almost raped and I'm not really feelin' that work thing. I'm thinkin' we need to go home and have a drink and, you know, be together."

"I need to work." She was adamant, in his face like so many times over the years.

"Yeah, I get it, okay. You're strong. You don't _need_ me. You can handle it _all_ on your own." His words were biting. "Couples handle problems _together_, Bones, they work things out together, not alone."

"Well, tonight I need to be alone." She didn't even blink. "I'm going to work and then _I _am staying at _my _apartment tonight." The implication was clear. He wasn't invited. Bones, party of one. She turned on her heel and marched off to her car without looking back.

Booth wandered. Their nights had been filled with each other. Even when she worked late, he came to the lab most of the time, hung out in her office or would work late until it was time to meet at his place or hers. That wasn't happening tonight, she made that abundantly clear.

He went back to his office for awhile, waited to hear from her, but he didn't. Sent a text. No response. Took in some therapeutic target practice at the range, but his memories were still stirred up from their session with Sweets and he couldn't get Hamid or that poor insurgent boy out of his head. Sent another text, then called but no answer. He left the Hoover, drove, not wanting to go home to an empty apartment. Ended up at the Founding Fathers, had a drink. Shaking off the initial burn of the first swallow, he felt Sweets walk up and sit down next to him at the bar. He found it hard to control the rage building in him.

"Where's Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked casually.

"Work." Booth didn't try and hide his irritation at all.

"Does that bother you?"

"Nope." Booth was already reaching into his pocket to pay and leave.

"I would have thought you two would have spent some time together after-"

"You'd be wrong." Booth couldn't deal with Sweets right now. He patted the young man on the shoulder firmly, so firmly it rocked his whole body, then left. At least at home he could drink in peace.

Making his way to that peaceful drink, he headed to what he knew would be a cold dark apartment. It didn't disappoint. He called again, left another message. Texted again, no response. Showered, changed, pretended to watch a game, one he couldn't name or remember the score of, paced, ate, called, texted, called again all as he watched the clock tick slower than it ever had before. Pushed to a place of raging concern for her, he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his keys and headed out to go find her. She'd had her space and if she really wanted more, he'd give it to her, but he had to know she was somewhere safe.

He'd just locked the door when he heard her faint voice.

"Booth." He turned to find her standing at the other end of the hall outside his apartment. Watching the discernable look of relief wash over his face, she knew where he was headed without asking. He was headed out to find her. She asked anyway, wanting, needing to hear the answer. "Where are you going?"

Taking a couple steps towards her. "You didn't answer your phone." He played with the keys in his hands, a convenient distraction. "You didn't text me back." He was close enough now he could see a trail her tears had left. "I was just going to make sure you were safe." He motioned back down the hall where he'd been heading then turned back to her. She came closer, nervously.

"My phone must still be on silent." She'd left in such a hurry and went straight to the lab and worked. When she was done there she'd gone to her apartment, still firm in her resolve to spend the night without the comfort of Booth. It was harder than she'd anticipated, much harder. He watched as she started to crumble, watched her fight to stay strong. "I'm so tired. Can I just?"

"God, Bones, you don't ever have to ask." She fell into his arms, held him tight, trying to pour everything she couldn't put into words into this one embrace. "Come on, let's go in."

He led her down the hall, past the living room. The clock chimed once, twice, three times. Into the bedroom where she stood and watched as he gathered clothes for her. He wanted to take care of her, needed to take care of her. Truth was she needed to be taken care of, needed to let someone take care of her. Snapped out of thought, she realized that he was close again, standing right there in front of her looking for her permission. She gave it and he gently started undressing her, replacing her work clothes with his old soft t-shirt and a pair of his boxers. It was close, intimate. Crowding her, he walked them backwards until her calves hit the edge of the bed. She tried to apologize, to have the conversation they should have had hours ago. Each time he hushed her, a kiss, his finger on her lips, a gentle sound hummed in her ear.

"Tomorrow, okay? We'll talk tomorrow." She couldn't wait for tomorrow though, it seemed so far away, too far away.

He wrapped his body around hers, she twisted and turned into him. When they finally settled he started to talk. "You know the boy, the one I shot? That was a regret, but not my biggest regret from that time." He felt her head move, it was dark, too dark to see but he could feel her looking at him. "My biggest regret was at the airport when you left." The rich timbre of his voice lulled her. "You, you held my hand. I should have never pulled away from you like I did. When you held on, I should have held on too. I should have never turned and walked away. I thought about it...all the time, for the longest time. I should have stayed with you, Bones. And when you turned around, when we turned around and saw each other. We should have stopped that madness, we should have never left. I should never have anyways. That's my regret. I should have stayed or I should have gone with you, either way, I should have never let you go."

"Booth." He kissed her before she could say anything else, showered her in kisses, tender, deep affections that carried the hurt of all those missing months. She felt his hands slide up her sides pulling the t-shirt with them, she settled back down on his bare chest. She'd found a comfort in feeling her skin rest on his an unexpected security in such a vulnerable state. "I had to go. I found something there I never would have found anywhere else."

"I thought the dig was a bust."

"The dig was." Her hands wandered, breaching the edge of his waistband first, finding the scar his brother had left during their childish wargames. Pushing, wiggling, tugging, he was soon naked next to her. "I found something else." It was getting harder to think. He liked this state he'd discovered in the three short weeks they'd been together. His affections left her open, no more over thinking, no heavily guarded Bones, just her, honest, bare. He tugged on those boxers he'd so carefully put on her.

"What did you find?" She was breathy now which amused him.

"You." Their clothes either discarded or pushed to their feet under the covers, they savored the feel of their long lean bodies pressed against one another, nothing hidden between them. "I found you, I found my love for you, my need for you." She'd never told him that. His hands stopped. She leaned up, hovering over him as her hair dangled, falling over his sensitive skin, it tickled. "I had to go away from you to find out just how much I needed that, wanted it, wanted you." His fingers pushed through her hair as he tried to hold it back to see what he could of her face. He looked troubled, overrun by the painful realization that Cam had been right. Hannah had been harder for her than she ever let on, than he had ever realized. She'd come home ready to love him and he'd betrayed her, abandoned her for another.

"But we're here now, right? You and me, together, no more nights like tonight, okay?. We've spent enough time apart." He begged as he rolled her, tucking her carefully underneath himself, desperate to show her how important she was to him, how much he reverenced every word she'd just given him.

The rest of their conversation would be wordless, their bodies always touching, close, not more than a couple inches apart at anytime. Desperate to cling together, any distance just seemed too far away.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N Did you all catch my not so subliminal plug for jazzyproz story entitled We'll Talk Tomorrow?! It just kind of happened but I had to add in there how Bones didn't think she could wait which is really my feeling about waiting for the next chapter :D If you aren't reading it, you should give it a try. It's one of my favorites right now!

This chapter was huge, maybe the longest one I have ever written but I couldn't cut any of it and splitting it didn't feel right. The more I get into this story the more I am enjoying writing it. Originally, I was aiming for a simple how Sweets found out story. But, the more I thought about it, the more i realized how much must have been going on at this time in the character's lives, the more "story" demanded to be told. I hope that's okay with everyone.

I owe a special thank you to craftyjhawk and snowybones for being deity like beta readers for me :) they put up with all my insecurities and questions and rewrites with grace and style.

Thank you so much for all your wonderful support, for reading and feedback. It fuels my fire and keeps me writing! I can hardly wait to hear from you and see what you thought of this chapter.


	5. I Feel

"I'm pregnant." And just like that the world stopped.

She looked so apprehensive ever since they left the hospital. Quiet at dinner. Uncharacteristically anxious and unsure, fidgety. Booth thought it was worry for their friends, anxiety over the change this new journey of parenthood would bring for them. It wasn't. He tried to reassure her that this was a wonderful, happy, beautiful time.

"I'm pregnant." The words echoed in his head, his mind running circles around itself at breakneck speed. He was speechless at a moment he knew she needed him to speak. In the absence of a reaction she sought to clarify her original statement.

"You're the father." Suddenly the last 72 hours made startling sense beginning with their last session with Sweets two nights ago.

"No, Dr. Brennan. No, that's not the proper response. You're supposed to look at the picture and then fill in the blank. 'I feel…" then say what emotion is evoked by the picture. You can't feel Boo-"

"Yes, I can. He's sitting right next to me." There was twinkle of mischief in her eyes, which she tried desperately to contain, she reached out and poked Booth's shoulder. "See?"

"Dr. Brennan. I just want you to look at the picture and tell me what you feel, your first instinctive emotional reaction, okay?" Sweets was clearly frustrated. "Here, see here, I even printed out a list, these are all words that describe common emotions." He patted the list set before them on the table. "This is simple, guys, you don't need to make it complex." He described the game again, the purpose and importance of being able to share their emotions. "After this we'll add to it by being able to say, 'When you do this I feel that.' Only, you'll be able to fill in the blanks. That's healthy communication and an important part of being partners. For example, Dr. Brennan, you could say to Agent Booth. 'When you won't let me drive I fe-'"

"I let her drive, she drove us to the crime scene last week." Booth was indignant. "Remember? You were there, Sweets."

"That's not the point, Agent Booth." Sweets paused to collect himself. "Just let me finish, okay? The point is, you can use this skill to communicate about problems in your partnership."

This session wasn't going well. First he'd tried to get them to play a simple word association game only to be reminded about how miserably that failed the first time they'd tried it several years ago. _Hunger, sex, whoa, horse, cowboy, child, baby, Booth, father, mother, birth, happy, sperm, egg, I want a baby, whoa, horse, _only these two could go from a starter word to Agent Booth impregnating Dr. Brennan in 20 words or less.

"Do you really wanna go there again, Sweets?" Booth had mocked him perched on the arm of the loveseat. Then went off on the awkward situation that simple word association game put them in. The one where Bones wanted to use his sperm to get pregnant, rehearsing the whole experience leading up to his surgery and brain tumor. Dr. Brennan sat uncharacteristically still, clearly annoyed by the recounting of events. Sweets was clearly put out by the quips and jabs thrown at him in quick succession and sought to change gears hastily. The problem, as Sweets saw it, was the propensity for these two to complicate and resist everything he tried to do to help them. Reacting to it never helped.

"Can we just move on please?" He always sounded so whiny and desperate when he thought they devalued his work or dismissed it as a waste of his time. Looking up from his notepad he was writing feverishly on he shot a passive aggressive look at Booth. This was his not so subtle way of reminding them he was recording and reporting the progress of their sessions.

Booth slid down onto the loveseat, leaned forward, and picked up the first card; it was a picture of a Capitals jersey. "Loyalty."

"I _feel_ loyalty. remember, the _I feel,_ the verbiage is important, Agent Booth. It's a declaration of _ownership_ of your emotions."

"I _feel_ loyalty." It was exaggerated for Sweets' benefit.

"Great. That's great, agent Booth, perfect."

Next Bones grabbed a card turning it over. "I feel distrust." A picture of a christmas stocking packed with gifts stared up at them.

"Why?" It popped out of Sweets' mouth before he'd even thought about it.

"You didn't ask Booth why." She was indignant. Booth and Sweets both staring at her. "Santa Claus is a lie, a deception propagated to the masses for the commercial benefit of large corporations. Why wouldn't I feel distrust?" Both men sat in silence.

"Do you think there's anything else associated with Christmas that might make you feel distrust?" There was a sad longing look in her eyes but no answer graced her lips. She hated psychology. Her experiences were her own, they belonged to her and no one had the right to call them up but her.

Booth shot Sweets an angry look as he picked up a card and placed it on top of picture of the stocking effectively ending the conversation.

"Let's see here, a puppy. I feel loss." Bones searched his eyes with concern. "We had a puppy when I was a boy, just for a couple of years. Then it went away, no explanation, my dad wouldn't give one and he wasn't the kinda dad you pushed for answers, you know."

She nodded before turning back to the deck of cards. They went back and forth with fairly easy pictures and answers, every once in a while one would touch on a potential landmine. Pictures of college parties, apple pie, a woman's bruised face, toys, stacks of clean dishes in a draining rack, test tubes. They kept it topical trying to fulfill Sweets' requirements without giving too much away.

A stack of books. "I feel…" She paused for a moment clearly thinking. "Safe." It was understandable, knowledge was and always had been a protection for her.

"Hmmm, I feel love." Booth spoke before setting the card down which sent Bones craning to see what card he pulled. There was a child with two older people Bones was sure were meant to represent grandparents. She smiled at him as she pulled the next card.

The color drained so quickly from her face making her ghostly white. Gripping the card, she didn't speak or set it down on the pile. Standing slowly she slid her hands down her skirt smoothing it as she announced she needed a minute. She let the card fall to the ground as she walked briskly out the door. Booth right behind her, Sweets not far after him holding the card.

She made a beeline for the lady's bathroom, disappearing out of reach before Booth could grab her. He stopped. Head hung in indecision, hands on his hips, fingers twitching. Looking up and down the hall he caught Sweets' attention.

"I'm going in."

"Agent Booth, that's inappropriate. If there are female agents in there, they could file sexual harassment charges. It's a serious invasi-"

"I could give a shit about that. Something's wrong. I'm going in." He reached for the door calling after her as he announced himself and apologized to any other women. As far as he could tell there was only one who brushed past him abruptly, shaking her head in disbelief. Sweets grabbed his arm right before he entered and shoved the picture in his face. It was a woman holding a baby. "Bones? Bones, are you okay?" Sweets followed him in. The sound of retching echoed against the cold tile walls. Booth turned to Sweets.

"Get out."

"No. No, I'm not leaving." He crossed his arms across his chest and set his jaw. "I'm the professional here, remember? The one trained to han-" Booth cut him off as he pushed him out the bathroom door.

"Get out!" There was no room for debate. "Give me a minute, okay? Just stand guard."

By the time he got Sweets completely out of the bathroom and turned his attention back to her Bones was at the sink washing her face, then leaning on it for support. Her body jerked and swayed, her knuckles white. Coming up behind her he rolled her into his arms, pulling her against his chest.

"You wanna talk about it?" She shook her head, almost violently, no. Clearly becoming more agitated. So, he held her as she sobbed. He assumed the trouble was some memory of her mom triggered by the photo on the card. But he'd never seen her react quite like this, especially in public. Most of the time, in private situations and public, she maintained a strict level of control over her emotions, this time she'd clearly lost it. She still felt heavy in his arms, which concerned him, weak, limp, unable to hold herself up. He felt her forehead for a fever, her pulse, listened carefully to her breathing.

"Bones, have you eaten?" She'd barely touched her breakfast, he'd even commented on it at the time. She'd complained that she didn't feel well, her stomach unsettled. The vomiting, the cold sweats, dizziness, maybe she had the flu.

It was evening, she'd probably gone all day without eating. "I was trying to get all the paperwork done for our last case." She always had a reason not to eat or sleep or generally take care of herself. "I'm just so tired."

"Well, yeah, and if you haven't eaten anything your blood sugar probably tanked." Sweets poked his head in to find Dr. Brennan leaning on Booth. Booth jumped to explain away her behavior, her late nights at the lab on the latest case, her lack of consistent meals, before telling Sweets in no uncertain terms that they were done for the night. "I'm taking her home." He directed it straight at Sweets. Then turned his attention back to her. "You're going home, no arguments, Bones." Booth stated firmly as they brushed past Sweets out of the bathroom.

"Hey, wait." Sweets called after them. Booth turned clearly annoyed. Looking like the alpha male ready to slap down the little pup. "I have some apple juice in my office fridge." Stammering a little he continued. "It'll help if her blood sugar's low or if she's got the flu. It'll help."

For all his faults Sweets' intentions were good hearted, they knew that, couldn't deny it. Maybe that's why they tolerated his poking into their personal lives, picking at the scabs from their childhood all these years. She sat and sipped apple juice for a few minutes on Sweets' couch while Booth gathered her belongings. Admittedly it tasted wonderful. Booth gathered her up and they were gone.

Sweets brushed the card Dr. Brennan picked against the palm of his hand, up and over, down and under as he sat in thought. Letting out a deep sigh he leaned forward and put the card back in the pile. He'd never seen Dr. Brennan react quite like that. Did it mean he was finally getting close to a breakthrough with her? It must. But it brought up an even more important question; would Booth get in the way of that breakthrough? He was always jumping in front of her in some misguided act of protection.

She felt a little better after drinking the apple juice, strong enough to walk on her own. They hadn't even left the parking garage before he asked her again if she wanted to talk about what happened. Again she answered, "No." Adding a very weak, "Not yet." He let it go for the moment. His attention darted between the road and his partner, his lover, slumped in the seat, leaning heavily against the window. It was hard not to feel the sting of her refusal to talk, just a bit. It hurt when she didn't confide in him, it felt like she didn't trust him enough to share whatever had pushed her so violently over the edge. It felt like space between them, and not a good healthy space.

She refused again as they were talking before bed, annoyed that he wouldn't let it go. Tossing and turning, obviously unsettled, her mind raced. As much as Booth wanted her to confide in him, and she knew he did, she couldn't find the words or the courage. Her thoughts were jumbled with fears and possibilities she needed to settle within herself before she expressed them to him. To confuse the matter, Booth's long rant over her request for his sperm years ago kept rearing up in her thoughts. She was so different back then, even she could see that, but could Booth?

"You're thinking awfully loud there, Bones. You sure you don't want to talk?"

"I'm sure." It was soft, almost childlike. She curled up against him, tucked in, an attempt to hide from herself and him. Booth let his hand rest along her jaw and stroked her temple, gentle, slow, evenly paced, with his thumb. Security washed over her with each tender pass until she couldn't resist sleep. Booth found it calming himself, the rhythmic touch and feel of her soft skin, their connection soothed them both.

"Bones." Sometimes this all seemed like a dream. Morning light stretching across her body, her head sunk down in the pillow, her mussed hair leaving soft curls draped everywhere. There were no pressing thoughts overrunning her, no worries, she looked nothing but peaceful. Whispering as his hand traveled the long curves of her body, she stretched into his palm, which almost ended him. Blinking she stared up at Booth and smiled.

"You feel better?" Nodding yes, she tried to shake off deep sleep.

"How late am I?"

"Well, that depends. If you were a normal person then you're still early, it's not even close to nine. But for you, about an hour and a half late." Jumping into action a look of panic washed over her. He held onto her pulling her back. "Slow down, okay?" Light laughter danced on his face, confusion on hers. "We have a case so you're not late to the lab at all. I already called Cam and told her I was bringing you."

She groaned. "You don't think she suspected anything?"

"Well, I don't know, Bones, you were snoring pretty loudly. Then, you know, there was you calling my na-"

"Booth!" She whacked him on the arm. "Stop." They both dissolved into laughter as he fell back on the bed and pulled her close, kissing her playfully.

"We have a case." Kissing along her shoulder, feeling her head lull against his, her laughter vibrating through him.

A case, a visible relief. They would work the case. No more discussion of the session with Sweets. No time. They would do what they did. This pleased her to no end. The familiarity and security of facts was refreshing. Conjecture led to too many possibilities and horrible anxiety, so, over the years, she learned to keep to the facts, strictly the facts. When situations arose that could incite panic, when there were no answers or she had to wait for answers she chose to ignore circumstances until facts, solid facts, presented themselves. And when her personal life tossed nothing but conjecture and unfounded possibilities she turned to work to provide structure and fact. It rarely disappointed.

This morning served up a grossly disarticulated corpse that interjected itself into a child's birthday party at a local bowling alley. Most of their conversations were stolen in transit to case related events and bounced between gory details and everyday life. The topic of the morning was heavily weighted and circling Angela's pregnancy and impending birth. No matter how she tried to pull her mind to other topics it seemed to settle right back on this little baby that should be arriving any day, her best friend's baby. Change, the baby was change.

After the bowling alley she went back to the lab. Booth went back to the Hoover. The body would be logged into evidence, identity would be established, background and lifestyle would be delved into as particulates were collected and bones cleaned. It was afternoon when Sweets finally had a profile for Booth and was on his way to deliver it.

"Agent Booth." Sweets called after him as he walked out of the break room with a fresh cup of coffee. "I have that profile for you." A couple quick steps and he was right beside Booth walking down the hall towards the bullpen. "How's Dr. Brennan doing?"

Booth looked blankly at him with an edge of annoyance. "Fine, I guess. I haven't seen her since the bowling alley this morning. Why?"

"Well, after what happened last night, you know, _during your session_." Sweets lowered his voice speaking in hushed tones.

"She's fine." There was a finality to Booth's response. Crisply worded and accompanied by a sharp _drop it_ look.

Without missing a beat Sweets opened the file to their latest victim and started into the profile. "Meet Mr. Jeff Fowler." There was a tinge of frustration to everything he did and said that only grew after Booth recognized the man's bowling shirt as one similar to Bones' dad's and virtually dismissed any need for Sweets. It was insult to injury to Sweets despite Booth's offer of thanks at the end of their conversation.

Booth didn't have time or inclination to coddle Sweets. He called Bones and Max to arrange a late afternoon meeting at the diner only to be surprised when she announced that she might be late because of an afternoon meeting, an appointment the details of which she wouldn't discuss.

They finished off their work day. They'd made an arrangement after their long night apart. No more back and forth, no more deciding each night where they would stay or wondering if they would stay together. A month at his place then a month at hers was their agreement. He picked her up, insisted she eat, and took her home. As scary and unsure of the future as she was he was home and it helped.

They prepped to revamp their roles of Buck and Wanda with joy as they shared laughs and memories mixed with a few confessions surrounding their brief traveling circus life late into the night. All the could have beens mixed up in what was now growing between them. She never mentioned the appointment.

Her restlessness seemed to have taken a break until it was time for bed. He held her, chased her through her nightmares, reassured her in soft whispers. "I'm here. I'm not leaving. You're safe. I love you." She pulled close, gripped him tightly until she fell back into a sound sleep. He worried. The picture of the mother and daughter, maybe it reminded her of her family of abandonment. Maybe, consciously or subconsciously the closer they got the more she feared he would leave too, like they had.

When morning finally came it was filled with the excitement of undercover work. The focus of finding a killer all consuming. She fielded phone calls from the lab, they passed information back and forth. It was a whirlwind of activity, Cam and Wendell's work hectic in the absence of Angela and Hodgins who were at the hospital, Angela's labor, Buck and Wanda at the bowling tournament, Max's suspicions and watchful eye marking any change he saw between the two, Sweets' interrogations back at the Hoover. The day didn't stop, running smack dab into baby Michael's birth and this damp street where they stood facing an even bigger change than either of them had planned.

"I'm Pregnant." Her beautiful blue eyes waited nervously for his response. "You're the father." And all he could do was grin, a big goofy grin, a light and love in his eyes. It was enough for the moment. She could finally breathe. Looking up and down the street he pulled her into his arms and a quick kiss.

"I love you." A quiet reminder. She took his arm, holding him firmly as they made their way back to his apartment.

"So, when did you know?"

"Confirmed or suspected?"

"Both."

"Confirmed just before we left the bowling alley. Suspected, harder to say. Many of the signs of early pregnancy are similar to those experienced by women prior to men-"

"Bones." It came out whiny as his whole body cringed. This was not where he wanted the conversation to go. She continued anyways.

"Tender and swollen breasts, moodiness, exhaustion, bloating, some women experience nausea and headaches." She kept talking nervously, scientific details and terminology a thinly veiled cover. Eventually she worked her way to actually answering his question. "I chose to ignore my suspicions until I had a solid reason to…"

"The session with Sweets." They walked slowly down the damp streets, lights glistening in the leftover puddles. It smelt clean and fresh, new.

"Yes." Taking a deep breath. "By then I was a couple of days late. I'm never late. I called and got an appointment for the next afternoon."

"That's the meeting you had before we met with Max."

"Yes. My doctor ran some tests and called me today with the results."

They were home before he brought the subject up again. He watched her fiddling with the clasp of that godawful necklace she'd worn as Wanda all day. Chills made her shudder as he swept her hair to the side and took over his big fingers stumbling on the tiny clasp. She smiled at him in the mirror.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? You didn't have to go through that alone."

"It was just a doctor's appointment and a few tests, Booth. I wasn't scared or worried."

Looking at their reflection in the mirror he talked directly to her. "I want this, understand? I want to be a part of this, every bit of it, okay? Morning sickness, swollen feet, midnight craving runs, doctor's appointments, every bit, whether you _need_ me there or not. I want to be a part of it all."

Easily a thousand memories flooded her mind. So many times she was there when Rebecca had withheld Parker or used Booth's time with him as a manipulation. She'd listened, saw first hand how he suffered over his limited role in his son's life. Remembering clearly his own final stand on her using his "stuff" to be artificially inseminated, he couldn't walk away, he had to be involved.

"Of course, Booth." She nodded in understanding. Life felt heavy all of a sudden. He watched the weight of their situation sink in. Life would never be the same. Neither of them had normal, happy childhoods. There was no happy frame of reference to build on, nothing to say this would be different other than their desire and commitment to make it different. His hands sunk low on her belly shadowing the spot where this tiny beginning of a life rested. The mirror seemed too revealing at the moment, displaying emotions too vast to separate in their reflection.

He saw the need for a break in the face of mounting emotion. Placing his lips on her cheek from behind he gave her a smack of a kiss. "I don't know about you Wanda but Buck wants a shower to wash off that gross bowling alley smell." She laughed. After a long day of mullets and hideous blue eye shadow, she agreed, ready to wash it all away. This Buck and Wanda weren't nearly as dashing or daring as the last.

The hot water was relaxing as it rolled over their tired bodies. It felt good and safe and normal. She needed that in a world she knew was shifting quickly. Booth reminded her how swiftly her world had tilted as his hands gravitated back to what was still a perfectly flat stomach.

"Are you going to do that all the time?" He laughed. "It's not funny."

"I can't help it." His smile brushed against her cheek. "You should probably get used to it."

"Booth." Her long insistent whine was meant to get him to stop. He held her tighter before reaching past her to turn off the water.

"Have you told anyone else?" He wrapped a towel around her shoulders as she stepped out of the shower, drying her carefully.

"No, no, I would never tell anyone before you." Their eyes caught, her hand tenderly stroking his cheek.

"Not even Angela?"

"This is ours, Booth." No truer words were ever spoken. It was theirs. "And what's ours, is ours until we decide together to share it."

"Well, yeah." His eyes were shining, warm and protective. As independant as she was there was something about Booth's protectiveness that made her feel safe and wanted, though she would be hard-pressed to admit it. "Let's keep it that way, okay? We can tell everyone when we tell them the rest." He laughed.

He'd only known about this pregnancy for a couple of hours. It didn't matter, this baby was precious to him from the moment the words, "I'm pregnant," crossed her lips. Her sweet smile, the light in her eyes, he thought she felt the same but needed to know, needed to hear it from her.

It wasn't until they were settled in bed that he finally asked her how she felt about the pregnancy. She couldn't answer. She stuttered and stammered, but, her sounds formed no words while emotion, so many different emotions, filled her up to overflowing. Booth gently wiped the tears.

"I know, it's a lot." His voice so low and soft but weighted with a reassuring strength. She only nodded fiercely trying to hold back the tide. "Let me help."

Rolling over her he slid down deep between her legs. Carefully he edged up her night shirt and laid a soft kiss on her tummy. "I _feel…_" She giggled at his over exaggerated emphasis.

"Sweets would be so proud."

"Right? I _feel_ a breakthrough in our _troubled_ relationship coming on." She squirmed under his touch as he smoothed and caressed the focus of all this attention. "I _feel _love." She nodded in agreement. Moving over just a little he found a new spot and kissed her again.

"I _feel_ happy." Her soft smile and giggles at his tickling kisses brought a smile to his face.

"I _feel_ nervous." A look of relief, of mutual understanding washed over her.

Moving lower, pulling at the waistband of her bed shorts, his fingers touched so lightly on her skin she could barely breath. "I _feel_ excited."

He made sure he had her attention for the next one, looking up after the kiss, catching her eyes. "I _feel_ connected to you in a new and beautiful way."

"I _feel_ overwhelmed." Pulling her shorts down lower, he kissed right over where he knew that baby, his baby, was growing.

"I _feel_ blessed." She felt his smile against skin and couldn't help the soft hum of pleasure that escaped. She was quickly losing the ability to think as his lips brushed against her skin, lower, softer. Her fingers played with his hair, cradled his head.

"I _feel_, Temperance, I _feel_ like I wanna celebrate with you, like I wanna make love to you." In one smooth move she reached down and pulled her shirt over her head and off her body. A satisfied groan his only response as she pulled him up so she could kiss his beautiful reassuring lips.

Forehead to forehead she answered. "You know that's _exactly_ how we ended up here, right?"

ooooo0ooooo

I was hoping to get this chapter out earlier this week but you know how it goes, pesky life and all it's demands. In fact, squeezing posting this between taking my son to a drama camp reunion and working on a BIG ADHD Awareness month project.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, writing and the feedback from readers may be the best anti-depressant ever! It certainly keeps the ideas flowing and more chapters coming!

Special thanks to my bestie Snowybones for feedback and bravely fixing my mistakes. She's always willing, helpful, and supportive.

Happy "Bones is Back" Week! We survived hiatus! Go us!

~DG


	6. Under His Watchful Eye

Booth watched the sand slip slowly through the hourglass to Sweets' right. Was it possible for the sand to move slower? He swore with each passing second it did. His leg bounced and every sound made him whip his head around toward the door in anticipation of her arrival.

"She'll be here." It wasn't clear whether he was reassuring Sweets or himself. "She said she would. She was just waiting for the body to be delivered to the lab." Sweets just stared at him as if he were trying to read his mind, or maybe his soul, trying to find some hidden meaning in _everything_ he said or did. Booth hated that. He hated that and the fact that he was more than a little worried she'd have to take a look at that body and then something would catch her attention and then she'd lose track of time and he'd be stuck with Sweets for the whole session by himself. Pulling an old worn set of dice out of his pocket, he started rolling them in his hand, rotating them in a fluid pattern.

"I know, I don't think she'd miss a session. Do _you _think she won't come? Are you worried about that, Agent Booth?"

"No! No, look Bones said she'll be here, she'll be here. I trust her."

"Then why are you so anxious, Agent Booth? Are you worried about her?"

"No, alright, I'm not, I'm not anxious about anyt-"

"Sorry, I'm late." She burst through the door. A visible sense of relief washed over Booth. His eyes fell shut in a slow blink as he let out a long held breath. "The body was late and all my interns were off at a required doctorate program meeting at the university. I had to wait and sign for it myself." Sweets couldn't help watch Agent Booth rather than Dr. Brennan. The dice had stopped rotating at a frantic pace in his hand and his shoulders must have dropped several inches, a complete change in his mood.

At times these evening sessions proved tricky. Take tonight, for example, no interns, Hodgins home with his wife and newborn, Cam called to a Jeffersonian department heads meeting, leaving no one but Dr. Brennan to receive the body and sign for it, at least no one that she would trust to do it properly.

Dr. Brennan sat down next to Agent Booth, their interactions almost awkward as they settled next to each other. Sweets kept scribbling on his notepad, pretending not to watch them when, in fact, he was.

"So, did you two work on using those phrases this week like I asked you to?" They both stared blankly at him. "The 'I feel…' statements?" Wide eyes looked back at him. Bones tried desperately to hide the smirk of a smile beneath her fingers of one hand she'd brought up to cover her mouth, while a look of pure mischief flooded Booth's as he looked back and forth between her and Sweets.

"Yes." Booth answered quickly. "Yes, we did. So, what do you have for us today?" He slapped his hands together and rubbed them as if he were anxious to move forward, a little too anxious.

"First," Sweets looked at the pair sitting directly in front of him. "I want to hear how that went. Dr. Brennan, you used at least one _I feel_ statement?" Responding to her silence, he prompted her. "When you do...I feel…?'"

"Hmmmm...yes." Dr. Brennan looked lost in thought.

"Can you tell me about one of those experiences?" His question hung in the air longer than it should have.

"Yes." She drew the word out, her intonation going up at the end in a questioning fashion. Her long pauses before each answer were getting awkward. Clearly, she was stalling and it was starting to annoy him.

"Just one experience, Dr. Brennan, any experience." Sweets doubted whether they'd actually done the exercises like he'd asked them to. Her avoidance could easily be her reluctance, near inability, to lie.

"I'm thinking." Booth's eyebrow raised and he fought the urge to smile. They'd been using Sweets' when you do...I feel... experience all week, but not how it was intended. He knew she was trying hard to come up with one that wasn't sexual in nature.

Passion. Need. Love. The tenderness, the softest touch, despite his strength and power. The feel of Booth's hands sprawled out across her hips greedily holding her body close to his. His strong, open kisses along her neck from behind. The thoughts sent a shudder through her body. Booth had a moment of panic knowing full well all her experiences were ones he would never want shared with anyone.

"Hey, I know, Bones. When you told me that you don't like it when I use, what did you call them? Colonialisms." Proud, definitive, knowing full well he had the wrong word, he said it to both provoke and distract. "Yeah, you don't like it when I use them because they make you feel dumb."

"Colloquialism, Booth, and I never feel dumb. I know my intelligence quotient. I am well aware of my superior intellect. However, when you use idioms and _colloquialisms_ that I am not familiar with I feel…" She took in a clearly tense breath and let it out measured and controlled. "I _feel_ less than adequate." Like the ding of the bell in a boxing match that set off a hefty back and forth banter between the two.

Now they were getting somewhere, Sweets thought. She didn't want to share the experience because she'd have to admit a fault. She _never _admitted faults or weaknesses, never.

"That's great." Dr. Brennan looked confused as Sweets interrupted the two. "No, really, Dr. Brennan that's great and exactly what I wanted to come from the experience. See how it opened a door, made it so you and Agent Booth could talk. It was a conversation _starter_ not a conversation _stopper_." With that, he reached down and picked up a box setting it ceremonially on the coffee table between them.

"Legos? We're going to play with legos?"

"Cool, huh? Bet you never thought you'd have so much fun in partner's therapy, right?" His excitement was disturbing and both partners shot him a look of disbelief. Dr. Brennan immediately started complaining about the body waiting at the lab for her as Agent Booth went off about how his son played with legos. It took a few minutes but he got their attention. "Agent Booth, could you move that loveseat out of the way? You and Dr. Brennan need to sit on the floor for this one." Booth rolled his eyes but they both got up.

"I've got it, Bones." He shot her a look as she reached for the arm of the small couch opposite him to help him move it.

"I can help."

"I know you _can_ but you don't need to, I've got it, Bones." His tone curt, his look knowing. "_I'm just being a gentleman_." He added under his breath.

"Look." Sweets pulled an already built structure out of the box, several of them remained inside. "You're going to sit back to back here on the floor. One of you will have the already built structure and the other one will have the loose box of Legos. The one that has the already built structure will have to give directions to the other." They were already settling on the floor anxious to get on with the activity. "This teaches communication skills, both how to be better at expressing information and listening to your partner."

Sweets had to admit they whizzed through the exercise faster and better than he thought they would. They settled into the activity, concentrated and working together seamlessly. Sweets had watched this for years, their moods switched remarkably fast. One minute, they could be fighting and the next completely pleasant like nothing had happened.

"I told you, Sweets, we don't need this. We communicate just fine."

"I know, I know but it's about expounding on those skills, growing as a couple." The look of panic in their eyes almost knocked Sweets over as they launched immediately into full-on denial.

"We're not a couple." Her fretful but insistent tone aroused Booth's need to protect her.

"Stop. Just stop. You're out of line, Sweets." Booth practically lunged at him stopped only by Bones' hand as it came to rest on his arm.

On top of it all, Sweets was frantically correcting himself, trying to be louder than the combination of Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth. "Partners, I meant _partners_!"

From boxing match to cage fighting. Sweets had completely lost control of the session. When the dust had settled everyone was tense and unhappy, especially Sweets.

"Your assignment this week is to teach your _partner_ something _new_, preferably more than one thing. Something you can do _together,_ _away _from work, something personal and important to you that the other person doesn't already know about. One of those activities I want to be present fo-"

"You want us to go on a date?" There was outrage in Booth's voice. "And _you're_ tagging along?" Booth was up and pacing.

"An _outing_, Agent Booth, _not_ a date. You're going to teach her about something that's important to you and _she's_ going to teach you." He stood his ground literally standing up to give directions. "Just call me with the date, the place, and the time." Sweets' jaw was set. His eyes dared Booth to take a stand against him. They were locked, staring like that for what seemed like an eternity. It reminded her of their fight over talking about Hannah in the stuck elevator earlier in the year. Her eyes went back and forth between the two men until Booth spoke through gritted teeth.

"Fine."

Sweets looked away as they moved to leave completely missing Booth's hand laying low on her back as he ushered her out of his office.

She waited until they got to the SUV before she started lecturing him on hovering. It was going to be a long nine months, if he insisted on coddling her the entire pregnancy. She wouldn't have it. She was animated, her brow set, lips stiff and beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Still, the best she got out of him was a promise to try.

Her request to go back to the lab was strategic coming right on the heels of his promise. What could he do? Swallowing the desire to just eat and take her home, he agreed to take her back to the Jeffersonian. A negotiation, compromise. They would go get some dinner and then he'd take her back to the lab for a couple hours.

She was already feeling the effects of morning sickness. Her raging hormones influencing her sense of smell and turning her favorite foods into a wave of nausea and repulsion. She ate mostly fries, turning away just about everything else. Booth didn't eat at all once it was clear the smell of his hamburger was about to ruin her dinner. He sent it away, claiming he'd snacked late in the day at work. She promised she would have it under control soon. She had been researching it, after all, had an entire diet and plan worked out. Booth just smiled and nodded. Life would teach her soon enough that some things were just uncontrollable.

The truck was warm, the lights of the city a blur, and his hand holding hers comforting. She got lost in the rhythmic feel of his thumb rubbing over hers. She fell asleep as he drove her back to the Jeffersonian. He took her anyways, knowing she needed to control what she could. When he parked and came around the truck to wake her, she blinked slowly. It wasn't fair, the tenderness in his touch as he swept her bangs out of her eyes. She turned her cheek into the palm of his hand before kissing his wrist.

"I'm tired." Her sleepy mumble entranced him. She started to pull herself together then flopped listless back in the seat. "Can we just go home?"

"Of course, Bones."

It was only a few more days before the morning sickness showed Dr. Temperance Brennan just who was in charge. She drank ginger root tea, carried sliced lemon in a sandwich bag everywhere she went, ate all the foods that she'd insisted Angela eat. Including garbanzo beans, which ended badly. She almost stopped brushing her teeth in order to keep from gagging. Booth watched her a little too closely at their most recent crime scene sure that it would finally be the one that made her barf. She accused him of being disappointed when she didn't.

She didn't complain. He stood patiently by her, sent her _don't forget to eat_ text messages throughout the day, carried ginger ale and saltines in his truck, stationed them strategically throughout her apartment and office.

They were together a little over a month and she was hunched over a toilet vomiting and dry heaving while he held her hair back. It was all suddenly absurd to her. Her random outburst of laughter startled him.

"This is _not_ attractive." She confessed while leaning over the toilet, fairly sure she'd never felt this self conscious in her life.

"I disagree." She looked up at him like he was completely ridiculous. "I can't imagine anything more attractive than a woman willing to go through all of this to have my baby."

"You're just trying to make me feel better."

"No, I'm telling you that I love you, even when you're barfing or maybe especially when you're barfing." Leaning in he kissed her forehead. A mighty mood swing brought on a flood of tears. This was going to be a bumpy ride.

Carried away by early pregnancy and a new case, it wasn't until they received matching texts from Sweets that they remembered their assignment. Amid groans and complaints the perfect situation presented itself. Originally, they discussed having Sweets over to her house where she would teach Booth an ancient board game she'd acquired in her travels in the Middle East. But, they were both concerned that their new found familiarity would be evident no matter how hard they tried to hide it. Saved by an unlikely source, Rebecca interrupted their discussion with a call regarding a change in Parker's baseball schedule. They would invite Sweets to come along with them to one of Parker's little league games. Bones knew nothing of baseball. Booth could teach her. It was public and open, lots of cheering, nothing too intimate or revealing. Best of all, Sweets was satisfied.

The field was brimming with excited uniformed children followed around by families carrying blankets, camp chairs, and every Starbucks drink known to man. Microcosms formed as groups of women, presumably mothers, gathered. Men also seemed to have traditions and rituals from greetings to interactions with the young players. It peaked her curiosity in a way she had _not_ anticipated. It also sent a tinge of panic and need to master this world before she had a child of her own coursing through her veins. She would be expected to understand these ritualistic events and participate in them soon enough. Her questions started long before they met up with Sweets and included everything from the game itself to the intricate culture surrounding it.

Sweets saw them before they saw him. From across the field, he watched as Booth, animated and excited if not clearly frustrated at times, explained the game to her. He motioned and pointed. Sweets smiled, whether they liked it or not this one was working. They were out, away from work, interacting and sharing personal experiences. So much for _we don't go there anymore_ he thought to himself. Soon enough, he'd come to sit by them but for now he found watching them from afar much more amusing.

The happenings of the game would be translated by Booth, which included explanations of what the umpire was saying and doing as well as the crowds reactions. For someone who had so pointedly expressed her disdain for motive, she suddenly seemed to have to know the motivations for every group. Why, why, why seemed to be her answer to everything.

By the time Sweets made his way to the partners they were in a fascinating discussion about the classification of Saturday morning little league parents. Booth's classifications of the different types of moms captured her attention. Teeth, a group who were clearly concerned about appearances more than anything else. Silicon mommies, self explanatory he told Bones then answered her confused looks by whispering, "plastic surgery," quietly so no one but her would hear. Granola, he described them as tree huggers and granola eaters, thus the name. Helicopter moms hovered and were prone to gasp loudly every time a kid tripped on the field, heaven forbid, they skinned a knee. That triggered an inning long rant about how children needed to get dirty and hurt, it was a natural part of growing up.

Bones had her moments too. She was quick to point out what could only be described as pre-mating rituals engaged in by certain women and men.

"Shhhhhh, Bones." He repeatedly tried to get her to talk quieter. "God knows, most of the people here have no idea what you're saying, but keep it down in case they do, okay?"

She didn't understand. "Their actions are obvious, Booth, how could me talking about them be a problem when everyone can see them?"

"We don't always say things out loud even when everyone can see it, it's not _polite_." Social rules, despite years of mini-lessons from Booth, she still didn't understand them well. Booth did, though, and most of the time she just accepted his appraisal and catalogued his advice for future reference. Still, there were times she liked to poke at him, deliberately crossing social boundaries for the sole purpose of his reaction.

"See that lady in the blue? The blonde."

"Bones, don't point."

"She's been engaging in sexually enticing activities pointed at you all morning. Maybe she's hopeful that being blonde will attract you because of your previous relationship with Rebecca and Hannah." The lady was walking towards them.

Booth leaned closer, his voice terse, and whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "I never took Hannah to any of Parker's games." The woman had definitely noticed Booth's companion for the day and was half way up the bleachers and almost on top of them.

"Seeley, hi." It was almost irresistible to not point out the subtle indicators to Booth, her stance, the flip of her hair, her smile. "Parker's having a great game today."

"Yeah, he is, thanks." Booth briefly introduced Bones then turned his body and attention back to explaining the game to his lovely companion for the day. He was more interested in the single fathers that saw fresh meat on the market as soon as he arrived with Bones. They'd been eyeing her all afternoon, several had made their way up the bleachers to be introduced and make small talk. Bastards, shamelessly flirting. This one had the balls to sit down beside them and try to edge his way into the conversation by taking over a lengthy conversation on base stealing.

Sweets watched from the row behind them. After shooting the man a dirty look, Booth turned again to Bones leaning towards her so far that he brushed up against her arm.

"You're cold."

"I'm fine, Booth." But before she could finish he shrugged out of his jacket and had it wrapped around her. Sweets looked shocked. Booth's black FBI jacket, one with his name in bold white lettering hung around her shoulders, effectively marking her as his. Sweets wondered if Dr. Brennan had a clue what had just happened socially. She certainly didn't seem to.

They had always been an odd pairing, Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, for so long they acted like a couple. Not just a couple, but a couple in a long term committed relationship. Sweets had watched that relationship grow from their early years then saw it fade when had rejected Agent Booth's advances. It flat out died after they had returned from Afghanistan and Maluku. Sweets was hopeful Booth's rather firm stance that they would never be more than just partners again was softening. Dr. Brennan on the other hand seemed more guarded than ever. Watching her point out women that were interested _in_ Booth _to_ Booth, that was just wretched and _not_ what one normally does when they're interested themselves. There was still lots of work to do, but it would have to wait for their next session. As promised, he left them alone after the game.

Booth, Parker, and Bones stayed on after the park had cleared. Booth had promised during the game that he'd teach her how to hit.

"It can't be that hard, Booth, it's a matter of science really."

"Great then, Bones, let's see you take a couple swings." Booth pitched, she missed, every time. Calling Parker over to pitch, he made his way to Bones. "You know, if it were all about science then there'd be pocket protectors in all the major league uniforms." The thought made him laugh out loud.

"I don't know what that means."

She sucked in heavily when she felt him wrap his body around hers carefully moving each part of her into the right stance. She blamed him, clearly smug and happy with what his proximity was doing to her. Barely able to think or speak and he expected her to keep her eye on the ball. Adjusting her grip on the bat, his words coming in heavy breaths against the back of her neck and ear, it was unfair. He talked of her hips swinging smoothly in solid motion, then moved his hands to show her the motion, how to follow through. Back and forth repeatedly until she understood the motion. Baseball was not what she was thinking about though baseball metaphors Angela had used in discussing dates came powerfully to mind.

Thankfully, Parker pulled her attention back through her hazy sense of an overdose of Booth. The boys worked with her until she finally hit the ball a couple of times before they called it quits for the day. Parker had to get back to Rebecca's on schedule.

She survived her first baseball game, they survived Sweets as a third wheel on their therapy required date, they had a wonderful time with Parker, got him home on time, and to celebrate they stopped at the diner for dinner and dessert.

A table full of dishes, a meal of laughter and friendly banter, they were down to tea and coffee and Booth's apple pie, which all of a sudden looked incredibly appealing. Grabbing her fork, she reached over and stole a bite. She popped it in her mouth and chewed gleefully. Booth backed up, his eyes wide with shock.

"Bones? You feelin' okay?" She was past a second bite and suddenly eating with vigor.

"This is very good, Booth." Covering her mouth as she spoke. Still chewing, she reached for another bite. "Maybe the best thing I've eaten since, you know." She'd been feeling so sick, eating even less than usual. It concerned him. He watched with such fascination that he missed seeing Sweets walk in, missed him standing at the counter, missed him walking over, missed the whole thing until Sweets was standing there towering over them.

"Hey, guys." The two looked up at him. "Dr. Brennan, you're eating apple pie." Booth watched all the color drain from Bones' face and was more than just a little concerned that she was going to faint or barf right there at the table. He jumped to explain.

"She lost a bet." Dr. Brennan nodded and chewed slowly in hopes that Booth would continue with the rouse.

"A bet?"

"Yeah, on this last case. I said the guy was having an affair with his secretary and Bones said I was wrong."

She'd finally swallowed. "I said he had no evidence, just a theory." Sweets looked confused. "He said he could tell they were having an affair because the placement of his hand on her back when they left the conference room of their office building." Even Sweets raised his eyebrow at that theory. Booth jumped to his own defense.

"He had his hand low in the small of her back, like really _low_. Middle of the back, friends or co-workers but not intimate. Lower back, intimate." While the bet was a ruse, it was based in reality. She argued, using placement of Booth's hand on the small of her back for so many years of their partnership. Years of feeling for her, their closeness despite the lack of a physical relationship, he made a strong case stealing her proof and claiming it as his own. Inevitably, the investigation would prove him right if not by the body language but by evidence and confession.

Bones set her fork down. "I think I fulfilled the requirement of our wager." Still looking a little green, she carefully wiped her mouth with her napkin, set it on the plate of pie, and excused herself heading straight for the bathroom. Booth scowled at Sweets, leave it to him to ruin apple pie.

"Is she okay, like she keeps running off to the bathroom which is just not really normal, you know."

"You know Bones. She doesn't really do sick." It was true enough. Every time Sweets had seen her sick she denied it and just kept working.

By the time she came out Sweets was gone and Booth had another piece of pie packaged and ready for them to take home. She looked at the bag and held up her hand ready to push it away.

"I don't think I'll be eating pie for a very long time, Booth."

More than anything he wanted to bend down and drop a comforting kiss on her forehead. He was already tired of hiding their relationship. At times like these, he wanted to tell the world but he knew that day would come soon enough. Her pregnancy was going to force their hand. Pretty soon, the change in their relationship would be obvious.

"Let's go." It was time to be home.

This was the part he loved the most. Home, their evenings together. It was everything he imagined and more. Sometimes, it still felt like a fantasy. Like this night, he walked out of the bathroom to find her settled in his bed reading, a formidable stack of pregnancy and parenting books towered next to her on the beside table. This, their evenings together were more often than not simple but perfectly satisfying. He stood and watched her until she looked up at him.

"Have I told you how beautiful you are today?" She blushed just a little. Always the romantic and yet she couldn't deny how his sweet compliments made her feel loved.

"Yes." She flipped back the covers on his side of the bed while making some half hearted statement about how he need not remind her _all _the time of his love for her or her beauty. Though occasionally was acceptable.

Laying in Booth's attentive arms her mind started to wander back through their day. He felt her anxiousness build until she finally broke the quiet of the night.

"Booth." She started hesitantly. "What group do I fit in?"

"What?" He was confused by her question at first.

"The groups of women." There were small pauses between each statement. "Today at the game." Her worries starting to consume her thoughts. "Granola, teeth, helicop-"

"Oh, right." He understood now. "None of them, Bones, I wouldn't put you in any of those groups." It was a compliment really, but she didn't see it that way.

"None of them." She repeated with a hint of disappointment. "But won't it be socially important to our child that I have a place and can function in the appropriate parental social circles?"

"Those aren't social circles and you are perfect the way you are. You're going to be a great mom."

"You don't know that." She shot back quickly. "You have no frame of reference from which to draw that conclusion." He tried to get her attention but she just kept talking, her insecurities pouring out. "You have never met my mother though obviously her influence as a mother wouldn't pass to me. I barely remember her, just notions, that's all I have. Kind, I think she was kin-"

"Bones, stop." He finally got her attention. "Those groups I gave you today. That's nothing, just a silly way I look at all these moms. Most of them just running around trying to be something they're not. I don't like that." He held her just a little bit tighter. "But you, I love you. And one of the things I love most about you is that you are your own person. You aren't running around trying to fit in a group or be something you aren't just to please other people. You are more than any of those women could ever be." She was about to argue. "I'm not finished, okay? As for being a great mom, I don't need to know your mom to know you'll be a great one. I'm nothing like my dad, at least I work everyday to _not_ be like him. I try to be a better dad."

Before he could get another word out, she'd jumped in to correct herself. "I didn't mean you're like your father, Booth. You're nothing like your father. I just meant that I know you're going to be great father to _our_ child because I've seen you with Parker. You're good with him. A good man and a good father. You have nothing to base my potential ability as a parent on."

"Sure I do." That confused her and she was about to restate her argument thinking he misunderstood when she felt his thumb gently run over her lips. "Listen. I know you. I know you better than anyone in this world. I know you sometimes better than you know yourself, right?" His voice was soft and sure. "I know how big your heart is. I know how deeply you love. I know how compassionate and wise you really are. I know you will be a great mom because I know who you are in here." Letting his hand slip down to rest over her heart he heard the slight bit of air she always took in before she started to cry.

"Who I am does not reside in my heart, Booth." It was a weak argument, offered without her usual firm and insistent flare, a mild protest reminding him that she was still worried. He rolled them over so he could see her eyes. Carefully he moved her bangs and the little strands of hair from around her face. A reassuring kiss to her forehead and he offered one last stand.

"Tell you what, if you get worried or stuck about social circles and other moms or anything else I'm here for you, okay? I will always be here for you, _always_. Let's make a deal, okay? I'll help you and you can help me. We'll do this parenting thing together, you and me."

Nodding her agreement she pulled him down needing the security the weight of him surrounding her brought.

_**ooooo0ooooo**_

_A/N: Hello again! It just dawned on me that the two stories I am working right now both circle around pivotal deaths on the show. That was completely unplanned and, truth be told, makes it a little hard to juggle. Booth and Brennan are in such very different places in these two stories. Anyways…._

_Thank you for your continued support in reading and leaving reviews! They mean to the world to me. They feed my muse and keep her bugging me with ideas that just HAVE to be written immediately. _

_Special thanks to Snowybones and Craftyjhawk for support, love, and catching the misspellings and grammar mishaps._


	7. The Break in the Routine

"Eat those crackers before you get out of bed." Booth pointed his finger at her as he headed out of the bedroom to start coffee and make pancakes. Booth's pancakes were one of the few foods she could reliably eat without getting sick. Still, she groaned defiantly. "I mean it, Bones."

"It gets crumbs in the sheets." Shouting after him she reached for the package of saltines he'd set on her bedside table. It was too late. She'd been awake for awhile and the nausea had already set in. She'd barely lifted the cracker to her mouth when the urge overtook her and sent her running to the bathroom.

Booth heard the retching from the kitchen and ran to join her. His bathroom was small, so he sat perched on the tub right behind her. Holding her hair with one hand he rubbed her back with the other. It had become routine.

"Morning sickness is caused by the rapid rise of HcG and estrogen in early pregnancy." She had to stop mid thought as her stomach turned quickly on her. "It often evens out or goes completely away by the end of the first trimester." There was a hopeful tone in her voice. Resting, she leaned back against him momentarily. Tenderly, he leaned down, brushed her damp bangs out of the way and kissed her forehead. "I am looking forward to tha-" Jolting forward the dryheaves started again.

"So, this is a good thing?" His voice sounded hesitant. He hated seeing her suffer. It had always been that way with her, he just couldn't bear it.

"Yes. It doesn't guarantee a successful pregnancy but it is a good indicator that the body is functioning as it should to complete a healthy pregnancy."

Reaching across to the counter Booth grabbed a wet washcloth. She slumped between his legs, her head resting on his inner thigh. Booth tenderly wiped her face with the cool cloth until she was feeling better. This was a particularly bad morning. One of the ones he tempted her to stay home and take a sick day.

"Tell them you have the flu or food poisoning." He encouraged her. She always refused. In addition to her reputation and need for the stability work gave her she was afraid to draw attention to her nausea and vomiting. "Then we could get out of our Sweets appointment too."

"Booth." Her scolding tone wasn't because she wanted to go to the appointment, it was quite the opposite. She just didn't think it was fair to tempt her that way.

They'd managed to avoid Sweets' office for a couple weeks. A demanding case kept them too busy to keep their appointments. Booth rather enjoyed not being poked and prodded to divulge their private thoughts and feelings. It was admittedly nice to not be chased around the halls of the Hoover for progress reports on their therapy homework. Sweets promised to count the baseball game as one of the missed appointments taking some of the heat off all of them from Noble at least for a bit. Booth would like nothing more than to add one more week to this therapy vacation.

"As tempting as that sounds I need to go to work so we'll just have to keep the appointment with Sweets." Her tone was direct and strong even though she felt weak and peaked, still resting between his legs in the bathroom.

It wasn't until their drive into work that he reminded her eating a few crackers when she _first_ woke up _before_ she got out of bed helped. They would banter back and forth about the benefits versus the risks of asphyxiation from eating laying down and crumbs in the sheets before dropping the subject until the next morning when they would start the whole process over again. It was routine and routine helped. It made their ever changing world seem more stable.

Routine meant that he would contact her around mid morning with some reason why they should meet for lunch. They would negotiate purpose, time, and location. Routine meant after a long string of back and forth text messages they'd decide he'd pick her up and they'd eat at the diner. They'd already settled the details when a little before lunch his phone buzzed, banging against his hardwood desk.

_Booth_

Her text startled him.

**Yes, Bones**

_Meet me at home. I'm going there now._

**you okay?**

_Fine, just hurry_

Fine? She didn't _sound_ fine. Not that a text could really sound a certain way, Bones always pointed that out to him. A text is just words with no inflection, she lectured him all the time, no intonation. But this didn't sound like her, not calm her. Grabbing his keys he raced out of the Hoover his mind reeling with possible reasons for her text. It was too brief, her text, not nearly wordy enough. It seemed demanding and frantic. She hadn't been well all morning maybe it got worse, she could have gotten dehydrated. No one knew that she was pregnant, not even Angela. Bones wouldn't tell anyone even if she really needed help, so stubborn. Visions of her alone and sick made his heart race. He clinched his fists around the wheel releasing his grip only to flip the lights and sirens on. His panic just grew. This had to end, they just had to face this. It would be obvious soon anyways. In his panic he made a judgement call followed by a hurried phone call. He was almost home.

Bounding up the stairs to his apartment, bursting through the door, yelling for her in a panic, he was more than surprised and confused when she greeted him calm, happy, and amorous. Her lips on his before he could even question her. Her fingers nimbly unbuttoning his shirt. Whispering about time and schedules and need, urgent need.

"You're okay?" He finally got out between kisses.

She stopped her assault on his neck and looked up at him with absolute confusion. "I told you I was fine, Booth."

True. Her text did read, _fine, just hurry_, now that he thought about it. She'd explain later. After the rough start to her day her stomach settled. She actually felt better than she had in a long time. One feeling good thought led to another which led to her texts. She needed to meet him, needed him before that changed, before the nausea came back.

No argument from him. Their moment turned into a trail of clothes discarded hastily, no time to waste as they made their way to the bedroom. A stream of sensual sounds, unfettered responses to their afternoon awakening. Each touch, each stroke, each long slide over sensitive skin set them farther and farther into a world all their own. His relief doubled as he watched her smile and laugh, saw the pleasure in her eyes, watched it overwhelm her body and soul.

He would never live without this again, he couldn't. If this ended, he was sure it would be the end of him.

"I love you," spoken softly against her skin released a heavenly giggle. It was sweet, innocent, unguarded, this was his Bones. The her she kept hidden from the world, carefully protected by her walls of knowledge, science, and reason. It was the Bones he'd always known was in there, that he'd fallen in love with so long ago.

He continued, addicted to the sounds of her pleasure, pulled farther and farther away by his own as she gave equally back all that she was given. Time, food, cases, appointments, all lost their hold as their attention was consumed at an ever quickening pace. Her breath, heavy pants, came faster and faster. Her body tightening around his as she held to him, her lifeline, then fell taking him with her until there was nothing but racing hearts and thin air as their two bodies collapsed on each other. They soaked up the ecstasy until their hearts slowed down, they could breathe again, think again, talk.

"I can feel her." His hand rested gently on her lower tummy and moved softly as if his very fingers were in awe of what lie beneath. "Or him, I can feel it either way."

"That's impossible, Booth, I can't feel the baby yet, you certainly can't."

"No, I don't mean feel it move. I mean I can feel the difference in you, in your body." His hand ran tenderly back and forth over what was the tiny beginning of a bump. He could feel her mood change though and knew exactly what this would be. "It's beautiful, Bones. I love this change."

"I know it is." He would continue to reassure her. She would continue to deny any insecurity over her changing body. "My pants are already tighter. Some are too tight to wear." A little frustrated sigh escaped with her confession. She felt his broad smile as he kissed her temple. His joy was comforting.

"Maybe you should tell Angela. Then you two can go do some shopping."

"I thought we were going to wait." Though she knew they couldn't last forever in this state she feared the changes telling the FBI could bring.

"I'm not sure how much longer we can." His hand still moving softly over her tummy begged to remind them both they were on a timetable now . "I'm not sure I want to wait much longer."

"What about the Bureau?" Worry mounted in her voice, she tried to suppress it.

"Well, I put a call into Cullen on the way here."

"Booth." Her voice was filled with trepidation and a touch of annoyance.

"I was worried about you, worried that no one knew there at the Jeffersonian, that if something happened and I wasn't there…" His thoughts ran wild with both concern and protectiveness as his voice trailed off.

There was a long break, unsettling silence, until she bravely asked her question. "What did he say?"

"He wasn't there. He's out of town for a couple weeks" There was an odd sense of relief to his answer. With Cullen out of town they could put this whole mess off for a couple more weeks.

"Oh, okay."

"I have an appointment, I made an appointment to talk to him when he gets back."

"Okay." It all seemed suddenly real. Their worlds, this private one she loved so much, their professional one she didn't want to give up, would collide.

"It'll be fine Bones" He always could read her mind or at least it seemed that way. "They aren't going to split us up, I won't let them. I don't think Cullen will let them."

"That's why you're going to him?" She'd curled into him as they talked, finding protection and security in his arms.

"Yeah, Noble doesn't really know us but Cullen does. And he likes you, Bones, likes us as a partnership." Another long stretch of silence ended with another question

"Should we wait to tell everyone until you talk to Cullen?" She pulled tighter into his embrace, hummed her approval as his hands made long smooth strokes along her side.

"Angela will be mad if she doesn't hear it first, from you."

"True." Mad would be an understatement, Angela would be furious if she heard from someone else or even in a group, which is how they planned on telling everyone else.

He waited a moment then added. "Tell her whenever you're ready I think it'll be fine. Just remind her not to tell anyone else."

"Okay."

Their conversation continued as they worked in reverse, dressing as they followed the trail of clothes backwards through the apartment until all was restored. They checked each other. She straightened his tie. He smoothed out her blouse, freeing a few bits of hair still stuck beneath her collar. Longingly she looked towards the bedroom. It all had to stop here at the threshold of his front door, the edge of their secret world, it's outer boundary.

They grabbed a quick lunch. He took her back to work with the promise to pick her up in time for their Sweets appointment. In an act of defiance she stole a kiss, as both looked over the other's shoulder to make sure they weren't caught. It was a silent reminder that things needed to change, a longing for things to change.

As promised he tapped on her office door with just enough time to rush them back to the Hoover. Her desk drawer was cracked open so she could sneak crackers as she graded papers, an attempt to stave off her afternoon nausea. It was working. Booth moved quickly, rousing her out of her seat, pulling her lab coat from her shoulders and hanging it up with the sleeves wrong side out. She barely had time to save her notes and log out of the program before his pestering her to leave became demanding.

"Stop rushing me, Booth, you're going to make me forget something."

"You don't need anything, Bones, and if you do we can come back. We're going to be late."

With his insistence and last push to leave she grabbed her messenger bag, huffed in frustration, and headed out. Her computer still on, papers strewn, drawer open, lights still on, chair turned just as she left it when she stood to leave. They would come back. They were going to be late and she hated being late just as much as leaving her office in disarray.

Booth could feel her tension mount the closer they got to Sweets' office.

"Wishing you'd taken that sick day now, aren't ya?" He whispered smugly as he bumped her shoulder in the elevator. "I know I am."

"No." Her sideways glance, her smirk and fidgety movements said otherwise. "I'm sure this appointment will be fine, Booth, _annoying_ but fine." His hand slipped low on her back, his fingers twitched with desire and familiarity before forcibly coming back up to between her shoulder blades for appearance sake. He ushered her out of the elevator and into Sweets' office.

The mood was different today. Booth picked up on it immediately. Bones didn't. As routine dictated they settled in their regular positions and engaged in small talk, current cases, Parker's little league games, topical, safe, intended to relax them all before they began the real work. It was a tradition before Sweets insisted on engaging in one childish activity or another to flush out memories and feelings they wanted left alone. Not today. Today Sweets broke with routine and slipped his zinger right into the small talk.

"So, I heard they had Vincent's funeral in England." Dr. Temperance Brennan sat up a little straighter in her seat, set her shoulders, her jaw, her eyes, all in preparation to block whatever blow Sweets was about to send her way. "You didn't attend." And there it was.

Booth's jaw pulsed. He rubbed his forehead several times before letting his hand slide back through his hair. Sweets had to go there.

"No. I did not attend." She offered nothing more.

"Why?" Sweets pushed.

She measured her breathing carefully, feeling every bit of air she pulled into her lungs and pushed out. "I chose not to."

Unsatisfied by her answer, Sweets pushed a little harder. "Why? Wasn't he one of your favorites?"

"Sweets." Booth was outraged and feeling protective. The broken sound of her voice the night of Vincent's death rang in his ears. Promising he could stay, begging him to stay, then worrying that her intern thought she didn't want him there. She had questioned her own humanity that day. Booth hated that. Why did Sweets always have to stir the damn pot?

Sweets put his hand out effectively telling Booth to stay out of it.

"All of my interns are important to me. None of them would be there if they hadn't earned the right."

"Then, why not go to his funeral to show your respect?"

"Enough, Sweets." His tone was sharp this time, commanding and authoritative.

"No. No, Agent Booth, she needs to explore these thoughts _and_ feelings, it's part of healing. Not attending the funeral shows that she isn't dealing with his death, just ignoring it. I've seen her do it before." He raised his eyebrows and shot Booth a knowing look. Yeah, he'd seen her do it before, several years before when the Bureau had faked Booth's death. A wound that had been dormant for so long but seemed to keep coming up recently.

"Well, you wouldn't have seen her do it before if you'd told her the truth, that I was alive, like you were _supposed_ to, like I _wanted_ you to." She watched the two men go back and forth, hearing but not necessarily listening to what they were saying. This was all going to come back around to her within seconds, minutes at the most. She prepared her answer and when she was ready she spoke over the men.

"I don't believe in the antiquated rituals of man that you call grieving. I don't see the purpose. I know he's dead. I was there." Swallowing hard, refusing to show emotion to Sweets, she continued. "What would a wake do for me? A lengthy church service centered on a god I don't believe in? Graveside enternments? Nothing. It certainly wouldn't change the outcome. I said my goodbyes with the people I care about in the way I wanted to. We shared remembrances, sang a song, and sent his remains home to his family."

"I know, Dr Brennan, I was there, remember? I guess what I'm adding is, was that enough?"

"It was for me." Her eyes were sharp, her tone biting. "I've talked to his mother several times, both before and after the services. I gave my condolences to his family. I even set up a memorial scholarship in his name." Sounding strong and confident she had to add one more sidenote. "If funerals are for the living then I would say I chose how I wanted to honor his life and that's what I did."

"I think that's great, Dr. Brennan, that shows growth right there." Sweets could see the distance growing in her eyes and knew he needed to back off a little if he had any hope of getting beyond her walls in this session. "But have you talked about how you _feel_ about his death?"

She stared back blankly at first, glanced briefly at Booth with eyes that begged for help, then away from all of them.

"So, the answer is no then. You haven't been talking about your feelings." It wasn't true. She'd been talking to Booth but Sweets didn't know that and she wasn't going to tell him.

Booth stepped in again. "Sweets. Everyone deals with grief in their own way."

"True and some don't deal with it at all." Sweets looked pointedly at Dr. Brennan even though she was looking away. "That's not healthy. These activities you've been working on have a purpose and part of that purpose is to help you deal with this specific event."

"Sweets." It pained Booth. "People deal with things when they're ready. You of all people should know you can't force someone to deal with something like this." His tone was hushed and directed at Sweets though his eyes kept darting towards Bones. They hadn't been expecting this emotional ambush and longed for one of Sweets' ridiculous trust or communication games.

"What do you want me to do?" Startled, both men looked at her in surprise. "Some game or activity or date that's not a date, whatever it is, just tell me. I've had enough of this. I want it over."

"Great." It wasn't great, she clearly forced her willingness, she wasn't really cooperative and certainly _not_ enthusiastic. "Okay, I think that you can agree that people wear many faces when they're grieving. A face we put on for the world to see. One that can hide the way we're really feeling. Would you agree?"

Booth's jaw pulsed and his head angled against his fists so he could watch her carefully. He felt sick, wanting nothing more than to stop this. Twitching with the need to reach out, comfort her with his touch, give her some of his strength.

"What kind of face do you feel you wear when you're grieving, Agent Booth?" It caught him off guard.

"Huh? Oh...I don't know, Sweets, I don't really do that. _She_ definitely doesn't do that. What you see is what you get with Bones, always has been." It was one of the things he found most attractive to him from the earliest days of their partnership. With her there was no guessing, no games, no lies.

"You do, do that. You _both_ do that." Sweets chuckled in disbelief at Booth's response. "_Everyone_ does to one extent or another." They both looked at him barely disguising their frustrations. "You _do_. Dr. Brennan veils her emotions in science and facts. It allows her to distance herself from her real emotions. It can make them more manageable. I didn't understand that at first about her. I thought she was just cold and unfeeling."

Booth cleared his throat, refrained from saying anything knowing that if he opened his mouth at this moment he couldn't, wouldn't control what came out. He adjusted himself on the small couch allowing his leg to brush up against hers and not look suspicious. Dr. Brennan remained stone faced, staring straight past Sweets.

"But, I've _learned _something about you, Dr. Brennan, even recently, that you're not as cold as you let everyone think." It was a failed attempt to pull her back, to reconnect her with him, with the conversation. "You wear a face, a mask, to keep those feelings under control. Which is great. It's okay to do that as long as you take those emotions out and deal with them so they don't destroy you and your relationships."

"They're private." Her eyes pulled briefly to Sweets' as she spoke her simple rebuttal, barely a whisper. She looked away again, staring blankly at the wall behind Sweets.

"And you keep them hidden, keep them _private_, by wearing a mask of reason and logic." This was exactly his point and he tried to reinforce it emphatically.

"It's not fake, Sweets, she really is _all_ about logic and things being rational, just the simple facts." Booth jumped in. It was true, Bones was all about truth. He felt the tiniest bit of relief thinking back to just several hours earlier. Her unguarded response to his worry. "But I told you I was fine, Booth."

"True, that's true. But, she also uses it to hide behind." It was painful to hear no matter how true it was. "And, Booth, you wear a mask of strength and experience. You know, you say you understand, you've seen it boring-"

"That's because I _have _seen it before, Sweets, too many times before." It came out through gritted teeth, anger for the countless injured and dying that haunted his memories, the many he couldn't save, the few he did.

"I know, I know you have. That's not the point. Look, both of your masks are an outgrowth of your own individual experiences, aspects of your personalities. You have found what works for you, for the people around you. But today I want to talk about what you feel _behind_ the masks. Beyond the logical and experienced. I know I am asking a lot here, guys, but you can trust me. We have been through a lot together. I wouldn't ask you to go to this place if I didn't think it would help in the long run. Really, I wouldn't."

Times like these Sweets expected Booth to deflect with humor, a sarcastic jab, some quip to put him in his place. He didn't. He didn't and Dr. Brennan who normally would be pointing out the failure of psychology to be anything but a soft science sat silent herself. So, he continued. "I want to know how you felt. How you felt when it happened, after it happened, now, how you feel now. Walk me through your emotional timeline of the events."

Clearing her throat she spoke quietly but firm. "I can't." There were too many feelings tied so tightly in knots that she couldn't separate or name them if she tried. Not to mention it was just too revealing and she didn't feel prepared to be that revealing.

"Guys, I am just trying to help here. I know this is a hard thing to talk about but really that's why it's so important that you do." Sweets' voice was softer, affirming. "Agent Booth, maybe you could start so that Dr. Brennan has a chance to gather her thoughts."

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and blew it out hard. "I knew he was dying. I knew he wouldn't make it. I've seen it too many times. But I kept the pressure on, kept yelling at him to hang in there. I hoped it wouldn't be the way I _knew_ it would be. I hoped I'd be wrong."

She felt her stomach scream against the stilled room, against the memories, the hurt and pain and regret, the guilt. Against all of it. She fought the tears that threatened to fall, pushed out, no room to keep them as Booth talked.

"Emotion, Agent Booth, _I felt_…" Sweets spoke softly trying to keep the momentum building.

"I felt helpless, helpless to stop it." It was still so fresh in his mind. The vision of the slight intern below his hands. The excessive amount of blood, sticky, warm, everywhere. The boy begging to stay, not wanting to leave, as Booth watched the life drain out of him. His frantic looks darting between Bones and her intern, wanting nothing more than to stop this for her, knowing he couldn't, knowing she was about to lose him. No matter what he wanted, what he did, it wouldn't be enough to stop this from happening.

Heavy silence hung in the room as Sweets waited to see if Booth was going to add more. And he was about to when he felt her hand on his arm in an effort to stop him. Their eyes connected in understanding.

"I felt desperate." She couldn't explain it more than that and she really hoped Sweets wouldn't ask her too.

It was a toss up who to affirm first. "This is a great." Sweets' wheels were turned quickly, seeing a crack in the door he was ready to burst through. "Let's try something. I want you to face each other and hold hands." The pair looked exhausted. Too tired to protest they turned in their seats and awkwardly took one another by the hand. In a way it was a relief, the touch and feel of holding hands was comforting. "Okay, now close your eyes and I want you to picture yourselves back on that platform when Vincent died." Dr. Brennan pulled away opening her eyes wide and stared defiantly at Sweets. "Come on, just try it. You don't even know what I'm going to ask you to do yet, Dr. Brennan. Just trust me, I think I have proven myself enough over the years for you to trust me."

She turned back towards Booth. He tenderly took her hands in his as he smiled reassuringly at her. A few deep breaths and they were ready to start.

"Okay." Sweets continued. "I want you to picture yourself on that platform and walk each other through what was happening, physically and emotionally."

"I heard the glass shatter. I was trying to get that trace on the number but when the glass shattered I grabbed Vincent and knocked him down to the ground."

"You were trying to protect him, Booth."

"I didn't know he was hit. Bones saw it before me or maybe at the same time. God, I saw it, I saw the blood pouring out of him and I knew.

"You did your best, Booth, you did everything you could do. I was there. I saw, you did everything you could."

"Everything I could wasn't enough, Bones. I wanted it to be enough for him, and you know, for you."

Sweets hated to interrupt them but needed to interject one thing. "Emotions." A gentle reminder spoken softly. Everything they said was fraught with emotion but neither of them were labeling the emotions they felt that day.

"I didn't want you to lose another one."

"Another one? I don't know what you mean? I have never had an intern killed before."

"No, lost, like Zack. I didn't want you to _lose_ another one." He heard her small gasp of realization, felt her struggling for control. Gripping her hands a little tighter he tried to offer silent support.

Sweets watched them closely daring one more interruption. "Let's talk about that loss, Dr. Brennan."

"Zack isn't lost." She squeezed Booth's hands tightening her grip on him as she felt her emotional control slipping. "I know exactly where he is." Even as she said it she knew the connection of loss that Booth had meant. She lost her daily association with him. Lost her brilliant young protege. Lost a piece of what she believed to be infallible. She had lost Zack, in a different way but a loss none the less. "I can go see him..." Her voice trailed off to nothing but whispered pain. She couldn't go visit Mr. Nigel-Murray, his quirky seemingly random facts were silenced forever. She was quiet as she thought. Struggling with a pattern that played out over and over in her life. One of loss and abandonment that she had yet to be able to reconcile.

"People leave. In one way or another they always leave." Her statement was filled with finality and riddled with fretful thoughts. There seemed to be no way to predict when it would happen or understand why. Her parents, Russ, Sully, Zack, even Booth to one extent or another though he had come back to her. This most recent incident, her young intern, represented such a permanent loss. There were more, lesser losses. All proof to her of the incredible risk one takes when opening up to love, engaging in the act of loving and allowing oneself to be loved.

"Not everybody leaves, Bones." Booth had offered a litany of unspoken meaning behind his simple phrase. He was saying he wouldn't leave her, that he'd be there for her. Sweets' heart twisted. This was it. This was the magic between them that they couldn't see. This was what he worried could be destroyed between them by the combination of Hannah's brief presence and the loss of her intern. He smiled warmly, though the partners couldn't see it, their eyes still closed. What followed took him by surprise in that stilled room. Clear as day a silent back and forth conversation between the two was taking place. Sweets felt it, though he couldn't pinpoint it and didn't understand it, he absolutely felt it. He'd always attributed this thing they did to a connection they shared visually but their eyes were shut, they couldn't see each other.

Booth opened his eyes, turned to Sweets, and announced they were done for the day. Sweets sat stunned into silence and watched. Booth made some completely unrelated small talk with Dr. Brennan as if the last hour hadn't happened at all as he ushered her to the door. He watched as Booth's hand sunk low, very low, on Dr. Brennan's back and swore she leaned back into her partner's hand. Sure that his mouth was gaping open Sweets checked himself just in time to see Booth raise his hand back up, deliberately placing it between her shoulder blades. Booth gave a quick glance back at Sweets and they were gone.

Sweets slumped back in his chair as he watched the door close behind the partners. Had that really just happened? He hadn't seen Booth's hand in the small of her back since before Hannah. Did Dr. Brennan know? Did she realise what it might mean for them? His mind bounced as it traveled through the details of all their interactions since Vincent's death trying to make sense of what he'd just seen. Flopping his head back he stared at the tiles of his office ceiling. This would take some time, some consideration. Somewhere along the line he'd missed something, he was sure of it, and he wanted to figure it out, needed to figure it out.

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A/N: Oh life, always a juggle! and here I am not at all coordinated enough to keep from dropping balls! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please let me know - I may not get back to you on reviews because I am so busy but I cherish each one of them and I love hearing your reactions to the story as it progresses.

Special thanks, as always, to craftyjhawk and snowybones who save me from myself all the time. Their feedback and help with editing give me the confidence to keep pressing the post button chapter after chapter :)


	8. Blood, Sweat & Fears

Blood, Sweat, and Fears

"How? I mean I know how, but, no, how? You're always so careful." Angela marveled happily aloud. Dr. Temperance Brennan was the most exact person she knew. For her to have gotten pregnant without a plan, flow charts, a string of carefully analyzed test results, and within her first month of dating Booth was inconceivable.

Bren ran her hands down the sides of her skirt smoothing it as she slowly let out a long measured breath. She knew the night, well it was one of two, after that they'd been very careful. Maybe three, there was another time but that was much later in the month and not at all likely to have caused her pregnancy. She was sure it was one of the first two. There was no planning in those first two nights, no thought, just raw emotion and need. Their passion was as loud and fierce as the pain. Maybe three days, depending on how she counted them, definitely more than three times on those three days.

Her mind wandered to the much safer topic of math. The night Mr. Nigel-Murray was killed, the day they caught Broadsky, that night when they sent her young intern's body off and after, when they went home, and the morning following. It was all one long blur to her. One long day instead of several days distinct and separate.

Clearing her throat she pulled her lip nervously between her teeth. "You know Booth is very private. He doesn't want me to share that kind of-"

"I feel like a cow, Bren. I'm constantly nursing, I've got sore nipples, and I'm exhausted. Just wait, it'll be your turn soon enough. Let me live vicariously through you just a little." She laughed at herself and Bren's attempts to hide her sudden look of terror. "I need this, sweetie. I mean, I really need it."

Her pitiful appeal pulled on Brennan's heart strings. Angela watched as her look of fear turned to a slight smirk and a sparkle in her eyes. Clearly flooded by the memories Angela wanted to hear all about. Angela could tell she wanted, at least on some level, to tell her. They'd always shared their sexual exploits before, often in great detail as they laughed and talked. Though this was different and Bren considered it carefully. This was about Booth, it was theirs, hers and his. She'd held it greedily close to her chest this whole time, sharing almost nothing with Angela. And, she reminded herself, they all worked together. It wasn't some stranger Angela would most likely never meet, it was Booth.

Angela dangled the half eaten package of crackers in front of her letting them swing in the air. "You owe me, okay? For keeping this pregnancy from me for a whole month." Then she flopped back and waited.

Grabbing the crackers from her hand Bren settled back on her office couch and began nibbling on one. Angela knew about that first time, though Bren had purposefully kept details at a minimum. She didn't want to share more of that night. It was sacred to her, a coupling like she'd never experienced, so much more than the physical touch. So unique she wasn't sure she could put it into words if she tried. She would tell her about the second time they made love. After they'd sent Mr. Nigel-Murray's body off from the loading docks of the Jeffersonian. After she'd come to stand next to Booth slipping her arm through his. After they'd finally made their way home after such a long and stressful day.

There'd been no time to talk about what had happened between them, not that morning, not all day. Leaving them both torn as they juggled the sudden and unexpected change in their relationship. Her mind had bounced all day. The memories of being with Booth, the feel of his touch, the sound of his comforting words, his heavy breath on her skin, the magic of making love to him, it had been hard to push away. But she had to. She had to make sure Booth had every advantage in his battle with Broadsky. She couldn't risk losing him, especially not now. Wedged in between were her own anxieties and worries about what the future held for them. Had this moment been the beginning of them trying to be together? Was he ready? Was she?

Her anxieties started early in the day. Making their drive to the Jeffersonian quiet as they both tried to process what had happened between them and stay focused on catching Vincent's killer. She remembered watching Booth's hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, each vein, each sinewy ligament, tendon, and muscle. She knew them all, every name, each point of connection to the bone. But seeing them now, seeing him as he kept re-adjusting his grip, stretching out his hands then wrapping them back around that wheel and tensing them again made her forget the science of it all. Each movement taunted her as the memory of those hands on her body stole her ability to think. She fidgeted endlessly in her seat unable to settle.

What little had been said between them was half words and short phrases, a clear avoidance of what they really needed to talk about. There wasn't time, starting and not finishing that conversation would be worse. They agreed they needed to talk later and to be professional, above all else. Especially this day, they needed to stay focused on work. Without complete focus this day could be deadly for them, especially Booth. And tell no one, they agreed they needed to talk to each other about what happened before they talked to anyone else. They needed time to think and make a plan.

Getting to the Jeffersonian parking lot had been a relief. She'd been on her way out of the truck when she turned quickly to Booth her eyes aching with pain and worry.

"Don't you dare die today." Before he could answer she'd already started moving, leaving. Grabbing her hand, holding her back, he answered.

"I won't." It had been an empty promise. She knew that. He knew that. One meant solely to provide comfort. Pretending that he had some control over the danger he faced made them both feel a little better. "I won't." He sounded strong and sure as he squeezed her hand. Holding onto her hand tightly as long as he could and she let him, until they slipped apart amidst promises of case updates and keeping each other apprised of progress.

Clearing her throat loudly Angela brought Bren's attention back to their conversation. "I'm waiting." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Sorry." Suddenly serious, it seemed impossible to speak of this time without having all the complicated emotions resurface with great power and force. "It was after we gathered here to send off Mr. Nigel-Murray." She paused in the futile hope that her brief statement would be enough to satisfy Angela.

"And." Bren laughed at Angela's excitement.

"And I wanted to stay and work on the paperwork. Booth didn't. He was insistent that we go home."

"Good for him."

"We argued and at first he left." That surprised Angela, her eyebrows shot up in shock and disappointment.

"It was my fault, Ange, I told him to leave. I told him that just because we'd made love didn't mean we could neglect our work."

"Sweetie."

"He didn't even make it out of the lab before he turned back." Bren had a look Angela had never seen before, a sense of security and satisfaction. "He said I was right and that he would help me but he wanted us to take the paperwork back to his apartment."

Booth confided in her later that he came back when he realized she'd just told him they'd made love, not engaged in coitus, not intercourse, not some other crazy anthropological scientific distancing name for it. His Bones had just told him that she recognized what had happened between them had been love. In her own terms they'd made love. After that he couldn't leave. He'd come back and watched her for a minute before tapping softly on her office door and making his proposal.

It was so strong, what they felt for each other, and yet so unknown which made it scary. Because they hadn't talked she didn't know where he stood, he didn't know where she stood. Afraid to talk, afraid not to talk, they were stuck in between, dancing an awkward dance around each other.

"We went back to the apartment and worked for a little while but I was so tired and tense. I asked if I could take a shower to relax."

Angela sighed and giggled already sure she was going to love this story. "Showers are nice."

"Alone, I was going to take a shower alone. He has an old apartment, Ange." She looked almost apologetic. "And the water from the shower head sprayed out when I turned it on. It was freezing cold and when it hit my bare skin I squealed."

"Squealed?"

Bren swallowed hard, here was the tricky part. Knowing how much to share had always been hard for her. Booth always said she shared too much, especially when the topic was sex.

"Screamed, squealed. It surprised me. Either way, Booth burst through the door." Both women looked at each other and giggled. "I was completely naked, Ange."

She laughed at it now but then, at the moment, there had been such intensity between her and Booth. She didn't know how to say it or if she wanted to say it but the night before, in his bed, in the dark, it had all been about touch and feel. Now she stood completely bare in front of him, fully lit. The rise and fall of her chest accelerated quickly as his eyes moved from hers slowly down her body. She wasn't shy. She stood strong and tall, squaring her shoulders. Stepping closer he'd try to explain.

"I thought you were hurt or something."

"The water." She pointed at the shower. "Cold. It was cold and it sprayed." A chill shuddered through her.

He'd stepped in just a bit more. "It does that." Almost timidly he brought his hand up and let it hover momentarily before he wiped some of the droplets from her shoulder. How could a man with so much strength and power have a touch so tender?

"Bren, Sweetie, you can't stop there!"

"He was worried about me." Coy, almost defensively, she justified Booth's intrusion.

"And…" She was getting impatient, Bren could tell.

"I was cold so he held me while the water heated up." Holding her, his hands drifted lightly over her body as she leaned in, chasing, desperately wanting more of his touch.

"How very noble of him."

"Yes, Booth is very noble." Bren's dreamy eyes swooned and Angela was sure she blushed just a little. "And strong, very strong."

He'd held her loosely at first, their cheeks brushed, then lips, until they caught each other in a kiss. Their bodies willing to have the conversation they feared, sure and confident of the outcome. Before long they were both bare, stepping into the shower, letting the warmth and their closeness comfort them.

"So it was shower sex?" Angela goaded. "I knew it."

Bren only smiled, hemmed and hawed. "Yes and no. Though it certainly started there, in the shower, I mean."

"More, sweetie, more, as in all the sweaty details."

"Angela." She shook her head. "You know how Booth is abo-"

"How's Booth about what?" He appeared at the perfect moment with Sweets trailing a few feet behind him. He was trying be light hearted but the weight of their current case had them all stretched and tense. "Hey, Ange, you're looking great." She stood, quickly filling the office with stories of Michael Vincent to pull the conversation and attention away from what these two best friends had been talking about. In the excitement over the baby news the crackers were stashed quickly under a pillow.

It was plain old saltines that had betrayed her in the first place. Angela had come into the lab to pick Hodgins up from work. Hoping to spend a few minutes with Bren she'd stopped by her office only to find it uncharacteristically messy and empty. Bren never ate refined flours, whole grains, organic yes, but saltines were none of those things. These were plain old fashioned white flour saltines in a long white plastic wrapper. Perfect for morning sickness or the flu and not much else. Angela had taken the package planning to catch Bren just as she had today.

Angela gave Booth a hug before excusing herself and looking back over her shoulder at Bren. "More later, okay? I insist." A sly look, a laugh, a wink and she was off leaving her alone with Booth and Sweets, both of which were eyeing her suspiciously for very different reasons. Sweets' natural curiosity wanted to know what they'd walked in on. Booth was fairly sure he knew what they walked in on and wanted to know how much she'd shared.

Neither of them would be satisfied at the moment. There were more pressing matters.

"Caroline got the warrant."

"What? How?" It had been the subject of much discussion between them. This complicated case seemed to be posing more questions than answers. The stress was oppressive. She felt so helpless as she watched Booth struggle with the weight of it. The bodies of two young boys had been found and linked to the same killer. A third body, more recently killed and another abduction left them scrambling for answers.

"The right judge, Bones, she knows her judges. She knew which one would grant it."

"We have no evidence Booth, it was all just supposition." Despite her protests she'd helped him prepare the brief for Caroline.

"It was enough and that's all that matters." There was markable tension in his voice. "Besides since when does my gut mean nothing, huh? Don't you trust me?"

"I trust you. I do. But you know how I feel about supposition and conjecture."

"Yeah, well, we don't have time to wait for evidence. I'll take my gut over nothing anyday." They both knew it was true. The race to find the latest victim was taking it's toll. She watched him call Parker every night. He talked a little longer, told him he loved him more frequently than normal. Booth reminded him each night about strangers and safety. His attempts to sound calm and fatherly but were only thinly veiled attempts to ease his worries. Parker was old enough to understand that now. This case hit too close to home.

"So, come on Bones, chop, chop, lets go serve the warrant." He tried to sound casual and everyday about it. It didn't work. Sweets watched with interest as they vollied back and forth.

"Maybe I should stay here, go back over the bones, see if I can find anything I may have missed."

"You didn't miss anything, Bones, you never miss anything."

"You don't need me. You have him." She pointed accusingly at Sweets. "You need me at the lab."

"He's going too. But I need you there so you can do that anthropology thing you do. Like in the case, you know the one, where you were kidnapped by Kenton." Booth was tired and stressed and flustered. He hadn't slept well in days. "That key thing you did."

"Booth, that was Goodman. He's the one that told you which keys were most important, which to look at first."

"Yeah, but you could do the same thing. Bones, I know this is our guy. I need your eyes and your brains there in his apartment."

They went back and forth while Sweets watched. His eyes darting from one to the other as they vollied effortlessly. They'd miss a therapy session this week, the case was far too important to take them away from it. But this was even better. He was watching their dynamic play out first hand, unguarded because of their exhaustion and raw emotions.

"Booth."

"Are you saying Goodman was better than you? Smarter? Because he wasn't. You were the one that figured out what he used the keys for, you figured out the crimilations."

"Crenelation. Cren el a tions." He had her coat and she already had one arm in it before she'd finished correcting what she knew had been a purposeful mispronunciation of the word.

There was something so unique about the way these two worked that Sweets wished they could see, a unity present even in their intensely oppositional moments. He smiled as he watched their bickering turn so naturally into singular purpose and direction. Booth straightened her jacket on her shoulders, gently pulled her hair from beneath her collar, as she slipped her messenger bag over her shoulder. There was an ease these two had with one another that Sweets could see returning after its brief and disturbing forced nature during Hannah's presence.

He followed them out of Dr. Brennan's office musing to himself. Maybe this was the balance they needed. Booth's devotion and unanswered affections. Dr. Brennan was obviously comfortable with this level of commitment. This was the conclusion he'd come to when they left his office last. Agent Booth's hand low in the small of her back, then adjusted up between her shoulder blades. Booth accommodated her. Anything that stepped beyond the point with which she was comfortable or required her to give back what Agent Booth gave her seemed to send her running. Her part of the balance was to let him, in the most minimalistic ways, show he loved her. For the briefest moment he considered letting them be. This was, after all, the state they seemed to function best in. If he left it alone they would probably go forever like this, more than partners, great friends, not lovers. But Sweets considered it only for the briefest moment.

In many ways Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth reminded him of his adoptive parents. Two people who shouldn't work but did, who'd given so much to each other and to him. They held so much happiness and love between them. He wanted that for these two. He would find a way, working on the theory that if he pushed Dr. Brennan, through therapeutic technique, she wouldn't run whereas if Agent Booth pushed her she would be back in Maluku in a heartbeat.

Happily remembering a small cut on her palm Booth seized the opportunity to grab her hand. Pretending to briefly examine it, holding onto it just a little longer than needed while he glanced between the road and her wound while driving. She played along, finding the need to be connected to him most irresistible after her talk with Angela, past mixing tantalizingly with the present. She forced herself back into the case by going over each detailed bit of evidence they'd found on each victim.

Wound tracks were all vastly different, particulates somewhat different but enough similarities to connect the cases, none of it added up to anything consistent or recognizable in pattern. While Booth was interested and questioning and Sweets focused on what the suspects answers meant she was looking for something, anything that might fit the evidence, a missing piece to the puzzle.

Old chipped cement slabs held up by metal framework,sloped and bent from years of use, led up to an apartment. Somewhat isolated, it was the last in a long row, the two apartments next to it were vacant. According to the manager they had been for a long time. Built over a string of garages, meant there were no neighbors below either. Every detail noted and catalogued as they approached the door. Each to be considered an important detail, though they often looked individually insignificant years had proven that what appeared to be nothing separately proved significant when combined with all the other details.

They were greeted by a hesitant young man, in his late twenties, lean in build, with shaggy unkempt hair. He could have easily passed as a college student. Unsure, his eyes darted between Booth and his companions as Booth gave his normal spiel. He was good at sounding official yet casual, setting people at ease in a way that made this, what they were doing, seem so everyday. In turn they were likely to share more than they had intended.

"Emmett Madison." The younger man answered in return. Booth rarely revealed his hand all at once, Bones attributed it to being a reformed gambler. He held his cards close to the chest choosing not to tell Emmett about the warrant. "Come in."

Layers of holey sheets were hung on the front window as curtains had been visible from the outside of the apartment. Leaving her surprised by the relative cleanliness of the inside of the small apartment and shocked by some of the finer items. There was a flat screen television on the wall and a couple of different game players she'd recently become acquainted with because of Booth and Parker. Games were stacked on the floor towering up from old shag carpet. An old saggy couch and easy chair where they came to sit, made it clear that toys were his financial priority. Her eyes drifted from the far right where she could see nearly all of the apartment's kitchen to the left where an open door revealed what must be a bedroom.

Booth led the way questioning interests, whereabouts, connections to the victims. She was paying attention and was sure that if asked she could repeat verbatim the conversation but her attention was focused on trying to make out what appeared to be an odd collection on the wall of the suspects bedroom. Bright and colorful it stood out even against the dimly lit background but the shapes were oddly formed - each piece unique and different. At the end of her cognitive abilities she stood and started drifting towards the bedroom.

"What are those?" Interrupting, everyone stopped and turned to her then looked where she was pointing. She paused pulling out her black nitrile gloves and started to put them on.

"You, you can't go in there, right? She can't." His protests quickly becoming incoherent. It stopped her movement short. "Make her stop. Make her stop." He rambled in obvious panic and resistance which only served to make himself look more suspicious. That's when Booth chose to pull out the warrant.

"Actually, we have a warrant right here that says she can go in there and she will." She started moving again only to be halted by the man's frantic explanation.

"Legos, they're just legos."

"Legos?" Sweets and Booth echoed in unison.

"Lego weapons. I make them. They're just legos." He thought it would satisfy them but it only served to pique her curiosity. The irregularity of the wound tracks, bits of colored hard plastics, solvents that didn't make sense before but now completely fit, used to change the molecules of the ABS plastic allowing them to fuse together.

"Booth." She started moving with intent only to be jerked back. Emmett Madison grabbed and twisted her around as she crossed in front of him. "I think those are the murder weapon." She grunted out, startled by the sudden change in her situation she acted instinctually, they all did. Booth had his gun drawn and trained on the man immediately. Sweets frantically tried to talk the man down and get him to release Dr. Brennan while she fought. Chaos, everyone's reactions overlapping until she became suddenly still. stretching forward, arching her back as far as she could. Booth knew in that moment the suspect had something, some weapon of some kind pressed into her back.

There was a wild look in Booth's eye, controlled rage, as he secured his stance and adjusted his grip. She knew he would take the shot as soon as he could. Locking eyes for a just a moment he willed her to stay still, to watch for his cues, to not goad the serial killer. He willed her to know he loved her and would get her out of this while he kicked himself for bringing her in the first place. He'd have to be more careful. He couldn't lose her, he couldn't bare the thought. If something happened to her or the baby he'd never forgive himself.

"He's a perfect shot, a decorated Army Ranger, a sniper." She blurted. "He doesn't miss." Booth cringed. Clearly she had no plans to be cautious at all so he'd have to be careful enough for all of them.

Babbling, confessing, Emmett Madison moved towards the door in an attempt to escape with Bones as a hostage. It couldn't happen, she knew enough to know she couldn't let that happen. Taking a deep breath she decided to fight.

On his report Sweets was at a loss for what to write. Even to the trained observer it was a blur of activity. Tangled bodies, she elbowed Madison, punched, and kicked until the man shoved her away sending her headlong into a coffee table. The thud of her body as it rolled limp onto the floor still echoed in his ears. Booth took the shot. As she promised, he didn't miss.

"Sweets, call it in!" The suspect dropped. "Damn it, Sweets, call it in!" It jolted Sweets into action talking over Agent Booth's mad pleas and consolations to Dr. Brennan. She regained consciousness fast enough but blood continued to pour down her forehead from a cut along her hairline. Agent Booth quickly checked her for other injuries. The two were already embroiled in a heated back and forth over whether she needed to go to the hospital.

Sweets had turned away from the pair in order to concentrate on his conversation with dispatch and turned back when he was off the phone.

"You have to go, Bones, you need stitches and to be checked out. You need to be checked out." Dr. Brennan was in the least rational place Dr. Sweets had ever seen her. She begged for Booth to take her back to the lab and promised to be attended to there, by Cam, desperately she whispered.

"I can't, I can't." Over and over again as she shook her head, begging for him not to push her. Hospitals had never been kind to her. Horrible memories of her years in foster care were louder than logic or better judgement.

"You can, baby, I'll be right there, okay? I won't leave you. I won't leave your side the whole time, okay? I promise, It'll be alright, I promise, okay? I'll be right with you the whole time." He kissed her forehead, again and again, like punctuation, one hand cradling her face one hand rubbed gently, intimately, low on her stomach in an act of belated protection.

Their unguarded moment taken in by a stunned Sweets. Their therapist, their colleague, their friend, looked down on them. Booth looked up. Caught. A silent agreement forged, they wouldn't speak of it, not right now. Instead, Sweets squatted down next to Dr. Brennan offering his own reassurances that Booth was right she needed to go to the hospital.

"Dr. Brennan, you're bleeding, You passed out. You need to go. The fact that you're trying to get out of it only proves more that you need to go because, dude, you're not acting like yourself at all." He was trying to lighten the mood, opening the door for her to make some jab at his youthfulness or psychology. She didn't. Letting her body fall into Booth's she fisted his shirt and held on.

Amidst her protests Sweets promised to stay at the scene. He'd supervise backup and the tech teams so that Booth could go with her to the hospital. It wasn't helping. In fact, she seemed more agitated. Excusing himself to go wait for the ambulance leaving the pair alone to talk as he stepped over Emmett Madison's body, out of the apartment, onto the cement landing. Leaning on the rail Sweets took a deep breath. He'd missed it, totally and entirely missed it. It wasn't just Booth, it was her too, he was sure of it now. There was a definite change in their relationship, marked by the ease with which Dr. Brennan accepted Agent Booth's affections. The way she confided in him, begged him, clung to him. Was it the intensity of this moment? Her raw need? Her fear?

He didn't even have time to consider it. The wail of sirens, the flash of lights, in an instant the scene was overrun by law enforcement and emergency personnel. An endless flurry of activity that demanded his whole attention and lasted for hours. He barely caught a glimpse of Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth leaving in the ambulance, red lights reflecting off of the rain soaked roads.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N Hello! Sorry this chapter took sooooooo long to get written. I had all these parts but they never seemed to settle into the "right" order. It was ridiculous but at least is settled and I was able to finish it finally!

Thank you for all the support in reading, favoriting, following and especially reviewing - I love hearing what people thought about each chapter and what they think of the story. Your reviews help me grow as a writer and let me know what works and what doesn't. Reviews are the best reward :)

Thank you also to Craftyjhawk and Snowybones for all their help and support in calming my frantic over thinking mind as I fret my way through every chapter LOL

Okay...I am off to write the next chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one!


	9. Confessions & Secrets

Chapter 8

Confessions & Secrets

"I'll grab my coat and we can go." Bones was already taking off her labcoat before Booth could even respond.

"No." It came out fast and firmer than he intended which he saw immediately by her startled look. "I'm taking Sweets."

"But, _I'm_ your partner." Disbelief, shock, worry, fear, possessiveness, anger, insistence she was flooded by emotions which seemed to gather in the pit of her stomach.

"You are." He moved closer. She stepped back. That charming smile wasn't going to work, not now, not with this.

"What did Cullen say?" It hit all at once. Booth had met with him this morning and never contacted her afterwards, he'd come over to the Jeffersonian instead, obviously to tell her in person. That couldn't be good. A panicked, frantic look grew in her eyes.

"Everything's fine, Bones."

"That's not an answer, Booth. What did he say?" Booth rubbed his face and came around the couch in her office to sit down motioning her to join him. Folding her arms over her chest she stood still. Letting a deep sigh escape him he tried to figure out the best way to tell his partner about his meeting with Cullen.

Booth had arrived early. Cullen was late. The combination led to a level of tension and anticipation that Booth hadn't experienced for quite some time. Not that anyone could tell from the outside. From the outside he was a picture of tranquility. Leaned casually forward elbows on his knees or leaning back arms folded across his chest. The inside was a completely different story.

He wasn't actually worried about telling Cullen about his relationship change with Bones. He was pretty sure Cullen would pat him on the back and tell him it was about time they got their shit together. The pregnancy, however, he wasn't as sure about. He might get a raised eyebrow and some pretty serious chiding or he might be told Bones was sidelined until it was over. Probably a little, "You should know how to keep that from happening by now, son."

He let out a long held breath. How? Bones said that Angela asked her how it could have happened. He smiled slightly as he considered her sciency answer.

"Booth, it's not that surprising when you consider your virility. Though the tests were done three years ago I am positive an analysis of your semen today would yield similar results." There was a sweet smile and that charming low laugh of hers. "28.8 million sperm in a mere 3 milliliters, Booth. You are extremely virile." It seemed like a sense of pride oozed from her as she rehearsed those statistics from long ago. It may have come unexpectedly but at least they did it the old fashioned way he reassured himself.

Unexpected, it had been unexpected. Neither one of them had intended to make love that long night when Vincent Nigel-Murray died. While it was a good excuse for not using protection it wasn't one he could use. They'd made love within reach of his nightstand and a drawer with condoms that had been sitting there. They had been tied so tightly in the moment, there was no thought of timing or their relationship or protection. It was it's own moment, suspended in time. It wasn't explainable. Inexplicable as Bones would say and it seemed like trying to explain it would be breaking a sacred trust between them.

Sweets. Booth took in a long measured breath. Sweets had been right about one thing. A single kiss and the dam had definitely broken. Maybe not even a kiss, a single touch. His hand slipped under that ratty old sweatshirt onto the deep hollow of her lower back, he felt her smooth cool skin under his hand, it took his breath away, and hers. He heard it followed closely by that beautiful hum of acceptance. And when he felt her hand reaching for his skin, that was it. At first just his hand wandered, needing to explore the deep scoop of her lower back, the one he'd traced and retraced in his mind a million times. Then, encouraged by her sweet responses he couldn't resist reaching, pressing his lips to her forehead, to her temple, to her cheek until they brushed her lips and her lips brushed his. They teetered on the cusp of a complete change in their lives and without hesitance they jumped. With each kiss their hands gained purchase. Clothes pushed aside, kicked away, buried deep under the sheets and blankets that shielded them from a world they wanted nothing to do with.

Booth found himself flexing his hand open and closed then shaking the memory off as he tried one more time to refocus himself. He cleared his throat trying to pull his mind back away from the memory of that night but he was too far gone. The long gentle slope of her waist and hip, her strong lean back, her chest pressed firmly against his own, he retraced every inch of her in his mind. Every inch had begged to be worshipped and he did just that. The desperate need to be together, to comfort and love, to feel every sensation of making love. The night was a validation that they were alive. It was panic that one of them could have easily been mourning the loss of the other. It was a promise to not waste one more minute being apart.

"Booth." Bones, his Bones, whispered soft and breathy in his ear. "Booth." Her voice filled his mind with every experience that had been theirs over all the years. "Booth." It filled him with uncontrollable love and passion and need.

"Agent Booth." Cullen's secretary, Lucy, called out. He didn't hear her at first, so completely lost in his thoughts and memories. Flashes of Bones, their bodies wrapped and twisted together, grabbing, clinging to one another. She'd called out his name in this tone that both begged and demanded all at the same time. He was powerless to it.

"Booth." Bones' irritation jolted him back to the present and the reality he didn't want to confess. "Why won't you answer me? Why are you taking Sweets and not me? What happened?"

"It's not Cullen, okay, it's just that, you know, you have this new body here in the lab and I know how you are about that and Sweets can handle this one so you can stay here a-"

She cut him off with a long steady stare of disbelief.

"You're hiding something from me, Booth. You think I can't tell, after all these years, you think I don't know?" Her eyebrows raised high on her forehead waited impatiently for a response. "I know I'm bad at reading people but I _am _not bad at reading you. What happened with Cullen?"

It wasn't Cullen. It was him. He was worried about being able to protect her in the field, her and the baby. Especially after what had just happened last week. The stitches still healing on her forehead was a quite vivid reminder for Booth. But he didn't know how to tell her that without being greeted with a swift and immediate angry response full of reassurances that she can take care of herself, that she's strong and capable. Maybe he didn't have to tell her that right now though. Maybe he could just tell her about Cullen and leave his concerns for later.

"Agent Booth." Lucy's sharp voice seemed less echoey and distant this time. It pulled his attention immediately as his eyes came up to meet those of Cullen's secretary, standing and leaning over her desk. Looking more than a little indignant she waited until she had his full attention before she continued. Booth started to stand in response. "Agent Booth, Deputy Director Cullen just wanted you to know he will probably be another ten to fifteen minutes but he's on his way." Booth acknowledged her with a nod and a thank you then settled back in his chair.

He was anxious to get this over and report the outcome to Bones. She acted calm but he knew she'd be fretting about this. It had been a huge fat part of their past. It kept them separate for so long. Before Hannah, before Maluku, on the steps of the Hoover he barely had a chance to tell her he wanted to give this thing between them a chance before she tried to stop him with her patented excuse, _but they won't let us work together_. Then, only moments after she'd denied him, she asked him with those penetrating, pleading eyes if they could still work together. He never could tell her no.

Rubbing both hands over his face Booth took a breath and reached for his phone. He prayed to God that she wasn't right about the FBI not letting them work together. It would break her heart if Cullen wanted to separate them or sideline her during her pregnancy. It would break his heart to tell her.

_**Cullen's running late. I'll let you know when I'm done.**_

Slipping his phone back in his pocket he tried to relax, dropped his shoulders, readjusted his legs, redirected his mind. Tried anyways, redirecting his mind wasn't easy. It was all Bones today. A little baby bump was noticeable to him now. The thought of it made him smile. She couldn't wear any of her pants, they were all too tight or uncomfortable. Unfortunately, it didn't stop her from trying pair after pair on every morning. Too big for her regular clothes not big enough for maternity clothes, she'd told him all about it. Her frustrations endearing. He spent a great deal of mornings wiping her tears and soothing frustrations. She'd taken to wearing skirts mostly and lived in trenchcoats or her labcoat. All an effort to hide. This thing, their partnership, Cullen, Sweets, it all had to be handled. It had become an undercurrent of pressure that pushed every little thing to the edge.

While Sweets knew, at least Booth was pretty sure he knew after the whole scene at Emmett Madison's apartment he wanted to be done with the whole conversation about it. Right now it hung in the air, nothing concrete. They had a therapy session later. They'd address it then, he was sure of it. He should have an answer from Cullen before then and hoped to pull Cullen out like an ace up his sleeve. That was the plan anyways, his plan.

Booth found his impatience growing and found relief as Cullen rounded the corner to his office. Booth was up and his hand out to greet Cullen as he brushed past Booth on the way to his office.

"Good morning, sir." Booth straightened himself quickly. Deputy Director Cullen motioned for Booth to follow him into his office.

"Okay, okay." Booth tried to appease Bones. "But come sit down, okay?" Sitting down meant bad news to her. Reluctant she made her way across her office and sat down angled so she could see him clearly. "Details, right?" She nodded.

"It was good. He was Cullen, you know, always pretty staunchy and serious. Shook my hand, congratulated us, said he'd take care of it. The fact that we've worked together for so long and that you're not technically FBI worked to our favor. Told me to just keep it professional at work and it shouldn't be a problem."

She looked relieved, letting out a long slow breath and smiled.

"Then I told him about the pregnancy." Sucking in a large breath she held it in an act of nervousness. "He didn't say anything, really freaked me the hell out." He chuckled a quiet anxious laugh. "Then paged Lucy and asked her to get Noble up to his office immediately."

Booth watched as Bones' eyes widened. Her heart raced.

Cullen wasn't as congratulatory about the pregnancy. "What the hell, Booth, didn't waste any time there did you?"

Booth's answer was simple. "No, sir." Then they waited in silence for Noble to join them. Booth hadn't had that many interactions with Noble. This wasn't the way he wanted this to go.

She was holding her breath. Booth reached over and grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "No matter what they do or say, Bones, you are my partner, you always will be." He wanted to hold her, kiss her, comfort her the way he could when they were at home but they couldn't not here, not yet. "Then he told Noble with me right there in front of him. Noble was pissed, I think mostly that I went over his head. In the end, they said whether you can still go out into the field during the pregnancy is the Jeffersonian's decision."

"In the end?"

"Yeah, there was lots of back and forth but it all worked out. I talked to Cam and she didn't see any reason you couldn't keep working in the field, you know, until, you can't. But."

"But?"

"But, I think we need to really consider, you know, case by case, bit by bit, so you and the baby can be safe."

"I am fine, Booth, I can do anything I could do three months ago, _anything_. That is not going to change. I am an extremely competent woman. I am more than capable of doing the work and protecting myself, pregnant or not pregnant." She was pulling away, up, and pacing, lecturing. It was a day for everyone to put him in his place and it was getting really old.

"Hey, hey." He chased her. "Hey, I never said you weren't capable, okay? I know you're totally capable, Bones." Turning to face him, he caught her eyes and in that moment he understood. She needed work to be stable, normal, unchanging because everything else wasn't. He could see it in her eyes. "Hey, you know what? Forget Sweets, you come with me, okay?" He was close and reaching for her but resisted. Professional, right?

"I'll go call him and tell him we'll just see him at our session tonight. You get your coat and bag." Smiling weakly he took a couple steps out of her office. His shoulders tense and tight, he'd just have to up his game, be extra vigilant to protect them as long as he could and have the rest of this conversation later in her pregnancy.

She nodded and smiled, he watched her relax, watched the look of satisfaction and confidence wash over her. He loved her. There was no doubt he loved her.

It worked out, that day, there was no real threat to the interviews or locations and eventually Booth found himself relaxing, even getting lost in the beautiful routine that was them. By the time they made their way to Sweets' office they'd had a nice early dinner and were busy bantering back and forth.

That's how they stumbled into Sweets' office. Satisfied, relaxed, the last of their arguments happily dying out as they settled on his couch. Sweets wasn't relaxed. He seemed awkward and unsettled. Booth noticed before Bones, who took her cue from him looking back and forth between the two men, trying to understand the tension.

It was their first therapy session with Sweets since the scene at Emmett Madison's had gone so horribly wrong. In the days that followed they barely saw Sweets which they accepted happily. It was all good until now, both wondering if the nervousness they saw in him was about their relationship. Had Cullen or Noble talked to Sweets? If so he didn't say and the tension just got worse as they danced around what seemed like the obvious.

"I gave Justin's family the name of a good therapist and victim's services info." Sweets threw out information to fill the air. Small talk and long uncomfortable stretches of silence were quickly becoming unbearable for everyone.

"Good." Booth tried to keep conversation going and as far away from the change in his relationship with Bones. He wasn't ready yet. "Good. He'll need that."

"His parents." Sweets picked his words carefully. "They're really poor but they seem like good people. I think they'll do their best to help him." Booth nodded.

"If money's an issue." Dr. Brennan offered eagerly then pulled back suddenly more cautious. She'd learned to tread lightly on financial issues having found offering to use her considerable wealth to help people often made situations more awkward. "Money shouldn't keep him from getting the best care given what he's already been through. That can be taken care of."

She looked pointedly at Sweets making sure he understood her offer to pay for services to help the young boy who'd been abducted by Emmett Madison. Abused but not killed, found locked in a large plastic dog kennel in the garage beneath the suspects apartment. Finding him alive had been the highlight of a long dreary case.

"I'll keep on top of it." Sweets assured her. "I'll let you know." Then without skipping a beat Sweets dove in.

"So, Dr. Brennan, how are you feeling? I heard they kept you overnight for observation, a possible concussion or something like that."

"I did." She'd tried desperately to get them to release her but the doctors recommended she stay and Booth agreed with them, making it impossible to leave. For the baby's sake he kept telling her, better safe than sorry. Fingering the itchy stitches on her forehead she bit her lip before answering. "I'm fine though." Pausing she swallowed hard. "Thank you for asking."

"That's good, that's good." They thought he was going to bring up their relationship next, they'd prepared for that, but he didn't. Sweets had no intention of discussing that right now he had another mission. "I want to talk about the whole hospital thing." Her whole body stiffened as she tried to hide the panic in her eyes. "Why, Dr. Brennan, why didn't you want to go to the hospital? And I don't want the sciency excuse."

Booth reached for her hand squeezing it tight in his own.

When she spoke it was soft but firm. "Sciency isn't a word, Dr. Sweets, and I make no excuses for my choices." She sat up straight, pulled her hand away from Booth's, and set her carefully folded hands gently in her lap, deceptively calm, ready for a fight.

oooooo0ooooo

A/N I hit the place with this chapter that I just had to let it go. Special thanks to Snowybones who edited this for me because in all actuality she edited two chapters - the first one was all finished and done when I decided something was missing and went back and wrote a completely different chapter 8 LOL Her patience is unmatched. The good news is that chapter 9 is almost done. I am just going to tweak a few things and add a bit to it and it will be ready.

Thank you so much for reading and for all the kind reviews. The are the fuel that keeps me going when I am so tied in mental knots that I want to scrap the whole thing! I am like that hellacious plant in Little Shop of Horrors screaming "Feed me!"


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